The Dragon Queen: Beginnings
by Teutonic Knight 92
Summary: Alistar and his Queen Elissa are dead leaving their only daughter to rule in their stead. Now this woman with a dark and terrible secret stands ready to lead Ferelden to the heights of power and inact a ancient vengeance on Chantry and its Maker. Book 1 of the Dragon Queen Series.
1. Prolouge

**The Dragon Queen: Beginnings **

Prologue: Death of a God

_The great doors of the Hall of Light burst open and in strode the shadow. Two spirits of Valor called a challenge and drew their flaming swords to do battle with the creature. In a swift motion, the shadow drew its own sword of midnight black, whose very presence seemed to draw in the light around it._

_The spirits charged their swords flashing as they struck. Waiting until the last moment the shadow lashed out with its own sword. Within seconds the spirits fell, disintegrating at the end of an ancient, arcane blade._

"_Stop," a cool, musical voice rang out and the shadow was confronted by woman of incredibly, majestic beauty. The woman dressed in robes of pure light held out her hands._

"_Do not do this child," Andraste the Bride of the Maker pleaded her voice sounding like the voice of a thousand angels._

_The shadow never paused as it strode up to the woman. The two stared at one another for several long seconds before the shadow raised it sword, _

"_After everything I have done, did the Maker think his whore," the shadow said savoring on that last and word taking particular pleasure in it, "could stop me?"_

_Laughing a cold, cruel laugh the shadow ran her through. Andraste smiled a sad, small smile, "You poor creature," she said as she vanished into nothingness._

_Striding forward the shadow moved until it stood at the foot of the Maker's golden throne which was flanked with hundreds if not thousands of spirits of valor, fortitude, justice among many others who had been summoned to defend the God._

"_**Leave now Mortal**__," the Maker's voice rang out, a voice that shook the very foundations of the Thedas, "__**Thou taint my hall with every step thou take!"**_

_The shadow never flinched nor faltered, but merely pointed its sword towards the throne, "Your time is over," the shadow said in a whispered tone._

"_**Do think you can slay all of my children**__," the God roared angrily. _

_The shadow shook its helmeted head and in that instant it was no longer alone. To its right perched the spectral forms of Dumat, the Dragon of Silence; Zazikel, the Dragon of Chaos and Toth, the Dragon of Fire. To the Shadow's right were Andoral, the Dragon of Chains; Razikale, the Dragon of Mystery and Lusacan, the Dragon of Night. Behind the shadow the last of the old gods, Argon, the Dragon of War, stood reared up upon his hind legs with his wings fully outstretched._

"_I am not alone," the shadow sneered, "and you have failed. All the mortal races… humans, elves, dwarves and qunari; even the demons… all the children you have , save one, serve me," it said with relish, "all that stand with you are the spirits and they are far from enough."_

_Stalking forward the shadow made its way through the army of spirits who parted before it in fear. In an act of monumental defiance it placed its right obsidian colored boot on the first step of the Maker's throne._

"_Your creation has usurped your place in the world."_

"In Castle Redcliffe, the home and domain of Arl Eamon, Elissa Cousland, only daughter of the late Teryn of Highever, lay in bed with her lover, Alistair – king-to-be of Ferelden. She was an extremely lovely young woman, with long white hair and an ample and lean body.

The hour was late and on the morrow the assembled armies of the dwarves of Orzammar, the Dalish Elves and the surviving armies of the men of Ferelden would march to Denerim and hope to save the capital from the darkspawn army. The human part of the army consisted largely the knights and men-at-arms of Redcliffe who were absent from the massacre at Ostagar.

But Elissa lay awake resting her head upon her sleeping lover's chest knowing that this could be their last night together. If all went well and the darkspawn were defeated and she slew the Archdemon she would die as its soul bonded with hers. It was the only way to kill an Archdemon and why a Grey Warden tainted with the darkspawn blood must be the one to kill the fell beast.

If the battle went poorly, then she, Alistair and all the comrades she had collected, the army she had gathered and certainly Ferelden, if not the entire world would succumb to the Blight and the darkness. She felt guilty that she hoped one of the other Grey Wardens would deal the finishing blow, but in her heart she knew that wouldn't happen.

It broke her heart to think of not only losing the man she loved but of what her loss would do to him. Nonetheless it was the way things must be. If Alistair killed the Archdemon himself, Ferelden would be left again without a rightful King and in the hands of Anora, daughter of the traitor Loghain. As much as she wanted to be with Alistair and be his queen… as a Grey Warden her duty was to the world first.

Elissa's most troubling thoughts were not of the upcoming battle or of dying but if she had made the right decision dealing with Morrigan. The witch had come to Elissa with a proposal to deal with the Archdemon that involved her convincing Alistair to lay with Morrigan thereby conceiving a child with the darkspawn taint. When the Archdemon died its soul would enter the unborn child instead of the Grey Warden that killed it.

As attractive as being able to spend the rest of her life with Alistair as his queen and ruling by his side sounded Elissa couldn't bring herself to do what the witch wanted. Allowing the love of her live to lay with Morrigan was repulsive enough, but binding the soul of an Old God to a child was monstrous. Morrigan enraged had left Redcliffe leaving behind all the others.

"Are you all right love," Alistair asked groggily looking up at her.

Without picking up her head she said softly, "Just hold me my love… just hold me," and so he did wrapping his arms around her as the drifted to sleep.

XXX

After a six day forced march only stopping and resting when absolutely necessary the army arrived on the hills of Hurin which overlooked the city of Denerim. Even from the hill they could tell they had arrived too late for the city was in flames and a large darkspawn host lied outside, waiting ostensibly for this army.

After arriving back from their tour with the scouts, Elissa and Alistair called the leaders of the army together to plan strategy for the upcoming battle. Each commander, human, elf, dwarf and Grey Warden had different ideas on what to do and Alistair and each other commanders were sure each one wouldn't work.

"I have an idea," Elissa suddenly announced after suddenly after giving the map close study.

"Let's hear it," Alistair said stepping back and giving Elissa access to the map.

Elissa stepped up all and the assembled commanders gave her the room out of the respect she had earned during her quest. Pointing to the darkspawn positions on the map Elissa stated, "The plan we'll use is the same on that should have worked at Ostagar."

"The elves and our own archers will soften up the darkspawn army and draw them away from the city to engage the main bulk of the army. At the same time I'll take the knights and the cavalry around the left flank where they'll be kept out of sight by the slope of the hill."

She took her fist and made a punching gesture; slamming her fist into the open palm of her other hand, "then once the mages let us know the darkspawn have engaged the main army the I'll pivot around and take them from the rear."

Riordan the senior Grey Warden commander of Orlesian city of Jador said thoughtfully, "A daring plan, but what of the Arch-demon."

"If it chooses to fight then… we'll have to deal with it then, but my guess is that it won't want to expose itself to danger so early in the battle," Elissa responded using everything she had learned about these creatures, "Once the darkspawn army is dealt with we can surround the city and, contain the rest of the darkspawn while I and the other Grey Wardens move in to neutralize the Archdemon."

Alistair gave Elissa a hard glare, "I'm going with you. There's no way I'm letting you battle the Archdemon alone."

"I won't be alone," Elissa tried to reason. "Plus the Kingdom, needs you more. Ferelden needs you a lot more than it needs me. Please see that," she pleaded placing her hands on his arms.

"Promise you'll come back to me," Alistair demanded softy pushing back a stray hair that had fallen across her face.

Elissa hesitated but only for a second, "I promise," she lied, knowing full well she might have to die.

"Now," she continued reluctantly removing herself from his arms, "back to the plan.'

After smoothing out some of the rough edges the assembled commanders one by one all agreed this was the best course of action and made ready their men.

Elissa sat upon her horse along with Alistair before her assembled nearly seven thousand strong, but they were still outnumbered nearly three to one. It was going to be a hard pressed fight.

"You should say something," Alistair said softly nudging her.

"Me?," she said bewildered, "You're the king."

"You're the one who assembled this army," he argued logically, "You're the one who brought them together; you put me on the throne for Maker's sake."

Elissa slowly nodded signaling her approval. Turning to take in the men before her she cleared her throat and began to speak as loud and as clear as she was capable of managing,

"Knights and men-at-arms of Ferelden, warriors of Orzammar, archers of Dale and my fellow Grey Wardens, I could stand up here and give you a speech on duty and heroism, but I'm not going to do that."

Several murmurs ran through the army as some soldiers looked to one another in confusion.

In an attempt to hide her nervousness she began to ride the horse up and down the ranks.

"I am not going to tell you to fight for me, for Alistair, for flag, King, Queen or Emperor. I'm going to ask you to fight for your land, for yourself, for your friends and family… for your children and your children's children. Fight for all you love," she said with a significant glance in Alistair's direction.

Halting her mount and standing up in the saddle, she looked directly at the army; her eyes as her eyes swept up and down the ranks, catching the faces of many a man. "Fight so that one day when you're old and grey and you have your grandchild on your knee and they ask you, 'what did you do in the battle of Denerim?,', you won't have to hang your head in shame and say, 'I ran and hid while others fought.'"

"You can say with pride that, 'I fought with the great alliance at Denerim that I helped drive the darkspawn back into the bowels of the earth. That I was there when the Arch-demon was slain'." she shouted and gave a quick tug on the reigns of her horse to cause it to rear up back as she drew her gleaming sword, "What say you?"

Their reaction was all Elissa could hope for as they let out a load roar beating their weapons on their shields or stomping on their feet. As Alistair rode up next to her Elissa noticed he had a great big smile on his face. Reaching out he gave her a kiss, "I didn't know you had it in you."

She too smiled against his kiss, "I didn't either," she said breaking away. Then more solemnly, "Come on we have a battle to win and a demon to slay."

Turning her horse she rode to her column, took her position and waited for the battle to begin.

XXX

The battle began just as Elissa had planned. The army moved taking defensive position on the top of the hill in the full view of Denerim and the darkspawn army. From their positions the Dalish began to rain a storm of deadly arrows upon the foul creatures and as hoped the darkspawn charged across the field and up the hill into the ranks of infantry.

Like a great wave the darkspawn crashed against the shield wall of the dwarves and Fereldens and were repulsed by hard steel and strong arms but the relentless creatures would come again and again until they or their enemy were dead.

Waiting, Elissa decided as she ran her gauntleted hand through her snow white hair, is what she hated the most. She could easily hear the screams of the dying and the ringing of swords and it took every ounce of will; power she had not to charge in now.

She quickly buried that impulse, as to charge at the incorrect time could not only get herself killed but her knights and the entire army including Alistair. They had to wait until the darkspawn army was fully engaged before attacking from the rear.

The horsemen had been in position for several minutes now and were waiting for the signal from the magi to begin their attack. Elissa looked around at her men numbering less than a thousand strong though all were well trained knights.

Wynne who sat upon a horse next to Elissa closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Wynne was here to serve as the messenger between the horsemen and the main body of the army.

Reaching out Wynne placed a hand on Elissa armored shoulder, "The darkspawn have engaged the army, Alistair and the commanders say to spring the trap."

"Bout time," Elissa grinned as she donned her helm, hoisted her lance and signaled the others to do the same, "Advance," she ordered as she spurred her horse into action.

She and the other knights advanced from behind the lowlands and onto the field. Elissa from her position in the center of the formation looked to both her flanks to make sure that knights were forming ranks. It was a calming gesture more for her than the knights as veteran warriors knew how to fight.

The knights formed a battle line five hundred men long and two men deep as they moved across the battle field. When they were within a hundred yards of the darkspawn army Elissa raised her lanced and filled her lungs yelling, "Charge!"

Responding to her cry one of the knights lifted a horn and bellowed a single echoing note signaling the charge. Elissa and all the other knights spurred their chargers into full gallop towards the darkspawn and when they reached within forty meters they lowered their lances bracing for impact. By this time the darkspawn rearguard had realized they had been outflanked and attempted to form a line, but it was too late.

Elissa upon her mount struck hard at the creatures driving her lance through the brain of darkspawn hurlock, one of the roughly man shaped beasts. Letting go of the embedded lance she drew her sword and began to hack at the monsters around her. Elissa was striking down a genlock when she heard an earsplitting bellow issue out from above. Looking up she saw a great winged dragon, the Archdemon, fly over head towards Denerim.

Sliding her sword into its sheath, she tugged at the reins of her horse directing it towards the city and the Archdemon. The other Grey Wardens did the same; disengaging from the battle towards Fort Drakon the tallest point in the city.

Thankfully the darkspawn presence within the city was greatly reduced and Elissa and the two Wardens with her only had to fight a handful of the devils at best. As they entered the palace district the Archdemon roared overhead Elissa looked up just in time to see a figure, Riordan, she believed leapt from one of the buildings and on to the massive dragon's back.

Elissa held her breath hoping that Riordan could finish the beast but her hope died stillborn. The dragon bucked and slammed into a building in a successful attempt to dislodge the Grey Warden Commander. The Warden fell but not before digging his blade in the thin skin membrane of the dragons wing shredding a good part of the fragile limb. The Archdemon roared in agony as it fell from the sky and crashed into the top of Fort Drakon.

Closing her eyes she sent a quick prayer to the Maker to watch over the fallen Warden as it was impossible for anyone to survive such a fall, "To the Fort," she ordered.

Fort Drakon the once the last refuge of the people of Denerim had been transformed into a horrible and cruel prison by the traitorous Arl Howe. As they entered the Fortress they saw it was littered with the corpses of its fallen defenders and the darkspawn who overran it. The fight to the keep was hard and bloody but finally Elissa reached the top of the keep where the Archdemon waited, the Grey Wardens who came with her had been slain, she was all alone.

For the first time the young Grey Warden was able to see the Archdemon in all its dark fallen glory. The old Gods took the form of powerful dragons and became Archdemons after being corrupted by the darkspawn. Now the once noble dragon was corrupted by the blight… its flesh showing the corruption of its soul. The dragon's rotten flesh seemed to hang in places and into others the dragon's sinewy muscle was revealed. The wing Riordan had torn hung limply at its side, oozing black viscous blood.

Elissa winced and raised her shield as the Dragon roared its putrid breath washing over and stinging her eyes. To her surprise the Arch-Demon spoke it a strange rumble without moving its mouth, "_You are foolish to think you can slay me Grey Warden, I am Argon the Dragon God of War and no foolish mortal can end me."_

Slowly circling the dragon her shield raised and her sword drawn she said praying her voice didn't sound as shaky as it did to her own ears, "I didn't know you could speak."

A harsh disgusting wheezing sound issued from the beast, "_Ignorance_," the wheezed again and Cecilia only then recognized this sound as the dragon's laugh, "_How do you think we commanded the Tevinter Imperium. We are gods,"_ it finished, lashing out with its wickedly clawed foreleg.

Elissa leapt to her left narrowly dodging the claw which would have easily cut through her armor She slashed down hard on the outstretched forearm cutting deeply into the beast's rotten, putrid flesh.

The dragon roared in pain as it pulled his arm back and unleashed a storm of fire from its mouth. She braced herself and held out her shield. The force of the blast pushed her back her armored boots grinding against the stone as she fought against the flames. Elissa was forced to grimace in pain as she felt her armor heat up and the skin of her shield arm began to blister.

Suddenly the dragon's fire stopped and Elissa sprang into action dodging the dragon's claws and jaws as she weaved her way closer to the fell beast. However she took a wrong step and the dragon swept out its claw and grabbed her in an armor and bone crushing grip. Bringing her up to its salivating jaws Elissa saw its eyes burning with a hellish red fire, "_Die now_," it growled as it began to squeeze and opened its jaws wide.

Elissa began to gasp for breath as she felt her armor begin to crumple and felt shearing pain lance up her side as one of her ribs broke. Taking her sword with all the strength she had left she plunged it upwards through the roof of the dragon's mouth.

The dragon convulsed as the sword went through the roof of its mouth and into its brain. It fell to the ground with a loud crash as it continued to convulse, blood pouring from its mouth. Breathing shallowly as not to upset her broken ribs Elissa dragged herself over to the dragon and drove her sword through its eye. The mighty Archdemon convulsed once more and fell still.

Elissa braced herself for death as she felt black powers explode from Archdemon as it began to burn from the inside out. To Elissa it felt like her stomach exploded as she fell to her knees then to the ground in pain. Eventually she slowly opened her eyes and looked at the spot where the Archdemon had been and instead saw only the charred bones of the once mighty beast

Elissa laid there on the ground confused her body battered and bruised. She had expected to be dead by now; she was supposed to be dead by now, but she was still among the living.

"Elissa," came a familiar cry. Alistair rushed to his love and knelt down at her side and proceeded to gently divest her of her helmet, "She's alive!," he shouted overjoyed as she starred back up at him with a weak smile on her face.

"How is this possible?," Wynne asked startled and confused, "I thought that when a Grey Warden slew an Archdemon, he or she died with it?"

"Now is not the time," Alistair said shouting for joy before a frown settled over his face, "She's hurt and we need to get her out of here."

XXX

Three days later Elissa was lying in a bed in the Denerim palace as the healers tended to her wounds. Over the last few days nearly a hundred people had been through her room. The crowd had ranged from fellow Grey Wardens asking how she survived to Ferelden nobles thanking her for her heroics. Elissa was anxious to get out of this bed and do something. The Bannon had postponed Alistair's crowning until she could attend as she herself was to be crowned his Queen.

"So you don't have any idea how you survived," Riordan's second in command said questioningly, "No Grey Warden has ever survived slaying an Archdemon."

"I don't," Elissa started shaking her head then suddenly a horrible thought hit her and she paled, "leave,' she told the commander.

"Wha-what," the Senior Warden asked confused looking back between Alistair and Wynne.

"Leave," Elissa shouted in a tone that only high nobles seemed to process… a tone that could make greater men flinch and lesser run in terror.

The Warden Commander stood a step back taken back before bowing slightly, "Yes milady," he conceded hesitantly knowing that it wasn't smart to upset the woman who would be Queen in a few days.

"What's wrong?," Alistair asked worriedly, "Are you all right…? Wynne," he said calling for the healer.

The healer began to pull potions from her bag as she came to Elissa side, but the noblewoman shook her off. Wetting her lips she shakily started, "I think I know why I'm still alive."

Alistair's eyes went wide as he said excitedly, "You know how?"

Elissa hesitated choking back a sob as she started, "Morrigan came to me the night before we set out for Denerim. She said that… that she had figured a way to kill the Archdemon without a Grey Warden dying."

"And this plan was?," Alistair asked with the contempt he held for the Witch of the Wilds clear in his voice.

"She told me that she had prepared a ritual and that if a main who had the taint within him had laid with her a child would be conceived. Whe-when the Archdemon died the soul of the old god would bind with the soul of the child instead of killing a Grey Warden. She wanted you to lay with her," she said softly looking at Alistair.

"You agreed to this monstrous act," Wynne said disgustedly looking between the two Wardens.

"No," they both shouted.

"Then why bring it up?," Wynne asked now confused, sending glances from one to the other.

Laying back on her bed Cecilia closed her eyes, "As you know Alistair and I have been sharing a tent ever since our first trip to Redcliffe." Having been their second stop after Lothering, she continued. "I was told that the chances of two Grey Wardens conceiving a child was nigh impossible so I never gave it any thought. What if we did conceive…? What if," she said, her voice breaking, "the old god's soul sought out my child?"

Alistair looked horrified at the thought. He sat down and placed his hands over Elissa's bandaged stomach, "Wynne can you do anything?"

The healer silently placed her hands on Elissa's stomach and used the same magic that mends tissue and muscle to look inside the young noblewoman's body.

"You're with child."


	2. Chapter 1

**The Dragon Queen: Beginnings **

Chapter 1: Opening Moves

Cecilia Theirin the only child and daughter of Alistair Theirin and his wife Elissa Cousland was the Queen of Ferelden. Now twenty years old, she was already known as a fierce and perhaps ruthless knight, a masterful tactician and a monument to the legacy of the martial prowess of her mother and father.

To anyone that ever met the young Queen she projected knowledge, power, strength and all those around felt a slight terror in her presence. It was said that the all the knights in Ferelden shook like leaves in her presence… an exaggeration to be sure but one not far from the mark. She was a demon in battle, loved its thrill and had more wisdom than anyone four times her age.

The true origin of Cecilia's birth has always been a closely guarded secret and only a handful of trusted individuals knew the Queen carried within her the soul of an old god or perhaps that she was an Old God herself. The secret was life threatening for it is doubtful the Wardens would allow her to live or if the Chantry discovered her secret they would declare her evil and descend upon her like a plague of locusts.

Today she was on the top of the keep of Fort Drakon training with her knights where she always had trained. Here among all places in Ferelden or in all Thedas is where she felt the most alive for this was the spot where her mother slew the Archdemon and Cecilia was truly conceived.

The armor she wore was made of dragonbone and not just any dragonbone, but the bones of the Archdemon, the old god itself. Her father and mother had taken the great dragon's bones and hidden them in a vault beneath the palace. When she was old enough she had father commission the great smiths of the dwarven kingdoms to create a suit of armor for her sixteenth year. The King had been uneasy with the request but with her mother's death her father didn't have the strength of will to resist her. So it was perhaps ironic that the young woman with the soul of an Old God was wearing the bones of her former self. It was an iron that always made her laugh.

Her armor was perhaps one of the finest sets ever crafted. It was obsidian colored from helm to boot with red strips running down the arms and legs. The helm was much like a templar's helm made without a visor or the familiar Ferelden head crest. Standing there dressed in her full battle array, sword and shield in hand, surrounded by three of her knights, she signaled them to attack. These veteran knights wore armor, obsidian like their master. They all had trained with her numerous times and knew how skilled and dangerous she was; so they carefully approached her from all sides.

Unlike most knights who fought arrayed in their family's heraldry these knights blackened their armor and swore a surcoat with only the royal standard of a rearing red dragon upon it as a show of fealty to Cecilia not their houses.

The Queen didn't move as the knights closed their noose around her. Her sword and shield held at her side… she didn't move just waited. Then the knight coming in behind her struck hard at her back, but she was far too fast. As the sword came down she had already spun to her left slamming the edge of her shield into the knight's right side and in the same motion she smashed her sword's pommel in the helmeted head of the same knight.

Said knight crumpled to the ground unconscious as the blow struck home. Then moving faster than any one had a right too she spun back around to catch the other two knight's swords on her shield and sword respectively.

Disengaging she took several steps back spinning her sword in a lavish twirl as a display of confident skill. The remaining two knights carefully advanced but this time Cecilia took the initiative isolating the one knight on the left and launching into a flurry of blows that had him giving ground. The second knight, the one on the right, rushed to assist his comrade.

Cecilia pivoted back on her right heel bashing the charging knight upside the head with his sword; as quickly as she had dispatched him she pivoted back striking the first knight with the front of her shield knocking him back and off his feet.

She walked over to the still conscious knight and placed his sword at his throat, "Yield," was all she said in a tone that only a fool would disobey.

The knight dropped his sword and shield and raised his hands in surrender. Cecilia nodded and sheathed her sword waving her squire and the swarm of servants and healers over to take care of the fallen knights.

"You should take more care with your knights milady," a dry sounding voice came from behind them, "you may need them later."

"I need to train Tiberius… what would you have me do?," she asked sardonically to the knight who addressed her.

Ser Markus Tiberius was the General of Ferelden, the commander of her armies when she could not lead them herself and had been in the service of the crown long before Cecilia had been born. Tiberius was an older man with graying hair and goatee who was well into his fiftieth year on this earth. The knight had served Cecilia's grandfather, uncle, father and mother, and now served her. He was known as a merciless knight and leader who inspired more fear than loyalty, but he was Cecilia's creature.

"The preparations for the Grand Tourney are underway in honor of your father's death," Tiberius said hands clasped behind his back

Cecilia nodded. Her father had journeyed to the Deep Roads less than six months ago and she had been ruling as Queen ever since. King Alistair's death had been a long time coming after his wife, the late queen and Cecilia's mother had died; the old man had never been completely whole again.

"He was a fool," Tiberius said in a matter of fact tone as they started walking. The man was never afraid to speak his mind and that was one of the reasons he was valued so highly.

"That's not a very kind thing to say," a deep voice belonging to Dakrak, the Dwarf with brown hair and braided bushy beard, "King Alistair was always very kind."

Dakrak's mother had been a member of the mining caste who had fallen in love with a casteless Dwarf who had promptly abandoned them when he was born. The man had hoped for a girl child who would bring him into the mining caste, but when Dakrak had been born and because the child belongs to the caste of their same-sex parent, he had left. Dakrak and his mother would have most likely died in the Orzammar slum of Dust Town if it hadn't been for the late Queen Elissa who had convinced his grandfather to take them back in.

Because of this, Dakrak had, when he came of age, left Orzammar and journeyed to Denerim to swear his loyalty and service to the Queen. However the Queen had just recently passed, but Dakark was allowed to swear fealty to Cecilia in her mother's place and he had been in her service ever since. The dwarf was a kind courteous sort who was just as attuned to playing the role of manservant as to cracking skulls with the massive broad-axe of his.

"You are both correct in your observation of my father," she said neither coming to either the man's defense nor insulting him. "My father was a fool, unlearned in the matters of state and kingship. With my mother's aid he could rule, but after her death…," she trailed off. "But he was a kind compassionate and caring man… who loved me and my mother very much. That alone made up for any of his faults," she paused before commanding, "Speak no more of him this day."

"Yes milady," Tiberius and Dakark said bowing their heads slightly.

"Now Tiberius," Cecilia said, her tone dropping several degrees, "I trust the other matter has been… arranged to my satisfaction."

The edge of the ruthless knight's mouth twitched upward in a rare smile, "Of course it has all been arranged, very discreetly very quietly."

"The loose ends?" she questioned, sure Tiberius wouldn't have left traces back to him or more importantly the Queen.

"Yes," Tiberius said not a trace of remorse in his tone, "I'm afraid to say they all met with unfortunate accidents… very sad."

"Good," the Queen replied, "I need three knights Tiberius… my knights," she added meaning her wanted knights belonging to the Sovereign's Own; those who were loyal to her and her alone, "to make ready for a trip. Have them pack a week provisions," she commanded. "I want Raymond, Edward and Robert to ready themselves," she said speaking of the three knights he just fought.

Even before she had become Queen, Cecilia had been collecting a number of men and women to her banner, most of whom were sons and daughters from the poorer nobility and the occasional exceptional commoner who on their own couldn't have afforded to become knights. By using her authority as Crown-Princess she sponsored the young nobles and when they fully 'earned their spurs' and their knighthood she had adopted as her personal troops.

Unlike the Palace Guard these knights weren't her protectors or even like the elite Maric's shield regiment which was the pride of the Sovereign's Royal Army. These knights were her own they executed her will and carried out her desires without reservation. Over the years they had become one of the most feared and disciplined forces in Ferelden and Thedas.

"We are leaving," Tiberius asked, his face carefully kept neutral; though Cecilia had been around him long enough to recognize when he was curious, "But what about the Tourney?"

"Don't worry," the Queen said, a slight smile touching her lips, "We will be back before they all arrive."

Dakark gave her a look, "And to where pray tell will we be going," he said hefting his battle-axe and resting it on his shoulder. He was foresworn to her and one way or another didn't care if she told him or her not.

"The Korcari Wilds near Ostagar," she said and left Tiberius and Dakark to discover what she wanted there.

XXX

The palace guards in their gold-red livery saluted as Cecilia passed and she acknowledged them with a brief curt nod. This was the last checkpoint in the palace and past this point no one but the royals and their servants went. She entered the "Royal Wing" of the palace where the royal family lived, which at the moment meant only her.

The Sovereign's quarters were at the far end of the wing past three other empty ones. She entered her quarters and closed the door behind her. She quickly passed through the first section of her quarters, the receiving, and back to her study.

Piece by piece she unstrapped the pieces of her armor and paced them on the stand until an armored doppelganger of her stood across from her. It was customary for a squire or servant to undo the armor but Cecilia enjoyed being self-reliant. Once finished with that, she moved on next to another stand and began to remove the chainmail hauberk, greaves, gloves, and hood and placed them on that stand.

After divesting herself of the mail she stripped herself of her cotton undershirt and pants until she stood naked. Briefly she glanced down appraising her unclothed form. Despite everything, she was still a woman and vain about her looks. The Queen was beautiful and she knew it. She had supple breasts and long legs; her body was hard from years of training without an ounce of fat anywhere.

The Queen of Ferelden moved to her bathhouse and slipped into the enormous stone tub which per her orders had already been filled with hot water and kept warm by magical runes engraved into the stone. She relaxed and let a groan of pleasure slip as her lips as she soaked in the heavenly water and felt her aching muscles begin to relax.

She lost track of time as she relaxed in the water until she was shaken from her revelry by a gentle rapping sound at the bathhouse door. Cecilia took a deep breath and ground out, "Who is there," she barked angrily.

"Ti-tis me your majesty," the simple tone of the Queen's handmaiden stuttered, "I beg your pardon for the interruption, but a rider from Orlais has arrived with an urgent missive from the empress."

The Queen perked up in the bath… the Empress of Orlais? Rapping her fingers on the stone wall of her bath she thought deeply about what the woman wanted. While many people in Ferelden still held disdain for anything Orlesian it was a sentiment that was changing. Under her parent's rule trade had flourished between the two nations and it had helped foster Ferelden as an emerging power in Thedas.

"One moment Anna," Cecilia finally said in a calmer voice as she rose up from the water and exited the tub. She reached out and plucked a towel from the rack and quickly dried herself off. Exiting the bathhouse she put on some small clothes before wrapping herself up in a wolf skin garment. "Give it here," she said sternly to the little elf when she walked into the greeting room.

The elf held out her hand for the queen to take it and when Cecilia did the servant quickly bowed and rapidly fled the room once she was dismissed. Cecilia turned the letter over in her hands as she headed to her study and sat down at her desk. Pulling out a small letter opener, she cut the signet stamped wax seal and began to read the letter within.

_To Cecilia Therin, Queen Regnant of Ferelden_,

_Many Greetings, may this letter find you well your Majesty._

_I write to you with a proposal for the betterment of our two great nations. Many years ago I wrote to your uncle the late King Cailan, Maker rest his soul, in the hopes of doing just that. I proposed a union of the crowns of Orlais and Ferelden through the marriage of him to myself. Out of this union of nations and flesh a power unlike that seen since the height of the old Tevinter Imperium would emerge._

_Sadly due to the treachery of the former Teyrn of Gwaren this dream would die stillborn. However we are now presented with a wondrous opportunity. As your highness may know my son Phillip, my firstborn and heir, has yet to take a bride. Forgive me for being bold but since you to find yourself without a husband, may I suggest a union of yourself and my Phillip would be most advantageous _

_I look forward to hearing your opinions on the matter._

_Sincerely,_

_Celene I by the Grace of the Maker, Empress of Orlais, of Her other Realms and Territories and Defender of our Andrastian Faith._

Cecilia read the letter three time to make sure she had everything correct. When she was satisfied she reached out and pulled out a piece of parchment and a quill and ink bank. Dabbing the quill in the ink she began to write in looping calligraphy:

_To Celene I her most Imperial Majesty and August Empress of Orlais,_

_Greetings and salutations._

_It is with a heavy heart that I must decline your most magnanimous offer. For while the relations between our two great nations have warmed in recent memory many of my people and most certainly the Bannorn would not care for the idea of a union of our nations. _

_However we might come up that while not ideal at the time may become advantages in the future. Instead of marrying your heir and the next emperor-to-be Prince Phillip I believe it would be better for us if a marriage arrangement was made between your second son Prince Charles and I. _

_If that were to happen then Charles could become my Prince-Consort and while this would not allow and immediate union of the crowns it would forever intermingle the Theirin and Imperial Drakonian bloodlines. So while for the moment Ferelden and Orlais would remain separate, it opens the possibility of a joining of the crowns._

_Sincerely,_

_Cecilia Theirin, by the Grace of the Maker Queen Regnant of Ferelden _

XXX

Antiva the land of the assassin princes and home to the famed Antivain Crows sat directly north of Ferelden across the Waking sea. Though the king of Antiva may presume to command these lands in truth it is the Crows the deadly sect of assassins that are the true power in the kingdom.

Though split into many houses the crows did have a centralized leadership located in their hidden fortress of Gilbran lead by the reclusive and secretive 'master.' Gilbran held all their secrets, all the records of their deals and importation that could bring the ruin of many a kingdom. To destroy Gilbran would cripple the Crows perhaps beyond their ability to recover.

Making their way through the halls of the castle three of the most promising young assassins in the order responded to the summons of the Master of the Crows for assignment. It was well known that the master only handed out the most critical and important missions.

Hector was the youngest of the three assassins called before the Master of the Crows. Hector was a young male who had been bought from the slave markets even before he could speak. They entered a lavish room decorated with the finest of luxuries as one would expect to find in the quarters of a King, Queen or even the Empress of Orlais.

Hector and his brother and sister assassins knelt before their master reverently. The Master of the Crows of Antiva was an old man with deadly silver eyes and a long grey beard that traveled down past his waist. He was dressed in a black robe with rich silver trim and a small slender scimitar hung at his belt.

"We are here Master," the Crows recited in unison, "What is out mission, who is our target, whom shall we slay?"

The old man nodded pleased with their obedience. "This mission is very dangerous," he said stroking his beard as he turned to gaze off the balcony, "but potentially rewarding beyond any mission the Crows have undertaken recently." The the old man paused uncertain, an unusual thing for him to do. "Or it has the potential to be damaging to the order."

Turning back to face the still kneeling assassins, he finally gave them the target, "You are to kill Cecilia Therein… the Queen of Ferelden."

XXX

Since leaving the Palace three days ago they had ridden hard for the Wilds only stopping to make camp at night. By the end of the fourth day the ruins of the once mighty fortress of Ostagar were visible to the small band.

"It is something is it not," Tiberius said looking upon the once proud Citadel with something akin to pity upon his face.

The other knights, with exception of Dakrak who was used to the magnificent stonework of Orzammar, were in awe of the ancient wonder. Ostagar was built by the Tevinter Imperium at the height of its power to serve as an outpost to defend against the barbarians of the Wilds. Now centuries later what was once a monument to the Imperium's glory now stood as a hollow reminder of the folly and frailty of man.

As day became dusk the company settled down and made camp, starting a small fire to cook their meal. As Raymond, Edward, Robert and Dakark chatted quietly, Celica noticed that Tiberius seemed distracted and was simply staring out into the Wilds.

Raymond stood and bowed before his Queen, "With your permission your majesty I would like to set a guard," Cecilia nodded and he gathered Edward and Robert before setting off.

"Something on your mind," the Queen questioned the elder knight once the others were gone.

"It's been a while since I was here last," he thoughtfully stroking his goatee while looking out over a large field blackened by the Blight, "and the last time I was here it didn't turn out as well for me or Ferelden."

Cecilia leaned forward, "You were with King Cailin at Ostagar?"

"Aye," Tiberius said darkly, "I was here when the traitor Loghain fled the field leaving us to die and abandoning whatever semblance of honor the bastard had left," he finished harshly.

"His decision was dishonorable," Cecilia agreed, "Even if he disagreed with the King they stood a better chance of defeating the Blight at Ostagar than with the small contingent he fled with. The fool should have known that."

"He let his fear of Orlais cloud his judgment as if Orlais was a greater threat than the Blight," Tiberius scoffed in disgust.

"With any luck Orlais will no longer be a threat," the Queen stated to the amazement of Tiberius and the other knights. Apart from the darkspawn, who were the enemy of all life, the Orlesians were Ferelden's traditional enemy and rival.

"How will you manage that?" Tiberius question skeptically.

"By marrying Charles of Orlais," she replied dropping the proverbial bombshell. Tiberius kept a stoic look patiently waiting for her to explain, but the twitch of his eye was enough to give away his curiosity. "My marriage to Charles would grant that my heirs will always have a claim to the Imperial Throne as whereas Philip's heirs will never have such a claim," Cecilia let a small grin twitch at the corner of her lips, "plus if Philip's line where to be… extinguished," she let it trail off.

Tiberius glowered with approval, "Very clever… very clever," that a descendent of Calenhad would sit upon the throne of Orlais was a seductive thought, "Will the Empress agree to such an arangement?"

"I believe she will," the Queen answered thoughtfully, "she is growing desperate. Despite whatever they may say the loss of Ferelden was a great blow to imperial pride. The chance to returning it to the empire without a single drop of blood is too appealing to ignore."

Silence fell over the camp before the wily old knight cocked his eyebrow curiously. "Now for the reason where are here?"

Dakrak leaned upon his right elbow from where he was laying on the ground. He'd been as interested as anyone in why they were coming out here, but his loyalty demanded that he didn't need to know, just obey.

To Tiberius and Dakrak's surprise Cecilia answered immediately if not fully, "To learn something and perhaps gain an ally." The Queen rarely gave out any information that was absolutely necessary.

"An ally here?," Tiberius questioned as he rested his chin in his hands. Cecilia watched patiently as the gears turned inside the old knight's head. She had faith that her chief … henchman would figure it out for himself. Seconds later she saw his faith was well placed.

"The Witch of the Wilds… this Flemeth," Tiberius said wide-eyed. Flemeth the famed Witch of the Wilds was the terror tale of every child's nightmares and the terror of the Korcari wilds. The one who the stories told once raised a terrible army to invade the lowlands.

"In a manner of speaking, Tiberius…, Dakrak," she said dismissively as she rose. After taking several steps she turned back to Tiberius, "get some rest old man… you'll need it."

Cecilia found her eyes drawn to the magnificent Tower of Ishal the keep of Ostagar. The keep rose far above the rest of the massive fortress, high into the heavens. Resting her hand on the pommel of her sword he made her way to the base of the tower and began the long arduous climb to the top.

The tower was deathly quiet and still born the scars of the blight. Dried blood stained the walls some a dusty red from the fallen humans and others midnight black from the slain darkspawn. Reaching out she ran her hand along the nicks in the wall were some mighty weapon had left its mark.

In her mind's eyes she could visualize a handful of desperate men-at-arms fighting in a hopeless battle against scores of attacking darkspawn. They fought long and hard only to be cut down as they attempted to defend the tower and in extentsion the beacon that would signal Loghain to strike.

Reaching the top she had a clear view of the valley below on which the King's men had fought so valiantly and paid the ultimate price in defense of their country. The valley was still ruined by the battle blackened and defiled the Blight.

Cecilia had seen this battle… the slaughter at Ostagar before in her dreams; she had seen many things in dreams, ancient battles, scenes of slaughter, powers of the Old Gods and demons. The Old God had shared much with him. Looking out at the field once more she saw the battle through the Old God's eyes.

_The great darkspawn horde rose from the earth like a great plague sweeping through the wWlds defiling all in its path. Normally the darkspawn were a pestilence but with the Old God… the Archdemon to give them thought they became a terror… a blight upon the world._ _The Archdemon who commanded the creatures now knew war, was war and reveled in it. Now the lord of war twisted by the corruption of the darkspawn would put his knowledge to good use. _

_The scouts had reported that the humans of Ferelden had gathered an army at Ostagar. The horde was ready and bayed for blood and he would give it to them._

_Through the eyes of a darkspawn emissary, the dragon Agron watched the putrid horde unfurl from the tree line across from the King of Ferelden's army. The darkspawn roared in their mindless rage and hunger held back only by the will of the Archdemon. _

_The army of Ferelden stood across the field smaller than the dragon would have imagined and that set the old beast instantly on guard. Surely men were not so desperate as to challenge the horde with such a small force? Nonetheless the great creature spurred his thralls into action. As the dragon moved the horde to confront the army he sent a detachment to burrow beneath the foundations of the tower of Ishal and breach it from below. _

_The Dragon God let loose a ferocious roar that reverberated throughout the minds of the horde throwing the darkspawn into a mindless blood lust and released them from his mental hold. The hell creatures gave their own roars and screams of rage and charged across the open field towards the men who stood against them. _

_The knights and men-at-arms of Ferelden held their ground; their banners blowing defiantly in the wind even when faced with the approaching horde. The army did not break or flee when faced with overwhelming numbers; further evidence the dragon realized that there was a trap in place._

_From the lines of Ferelden a single man strode forth clothed in gleaming golden armor. This was the King of Ferelden surely the creature realized. He raised a gleaming silver sword over his head and made a chopping motion, "Loose," he barked, his voice echoing across the valley._

_From the ruins arrows were loosed from their bows. There was so many that for a moment the sky seemed filled with them. Many an arrow found its mark, piecing the crudely assembled armor of the darkspawn causing many of the fell beasts to crash to the ground dead. Twice more the Fereldens loosed their bows and fired their crossbows, but it was not enough to stem the tide. _

_The darkspawn feared nothing save perhaps the wrath of the Archdemon. The darkspawn advanced over the corpses of their own dead not caring how many fell; for every one of the beasts who fell thousands more waited to take their place. The darkspawn like a great wave crashed across the shield wall of the army of Ferelden. _

_Watching through the emissary's eyes the demon saw the men holding bravely as the darkspawn threw themselves into the Ferelden line in massive wave of putrid flesh. He watched his thralls break through the frontlines of their enemy and into his ranks. The soldiers Ferelden fought bravely but like the waves against the shore the darkspawn were eroding them away._

_Despite the initial success worry nipped at the consciousness of the great dragon, his forces in the tower were close to being extinguished and to make matters worse his scouts had found that Ferelden reinforcements were hidden and waiting. They were not enough to guarantee victory but it meant his victory was no longer certain. He needed to finish the bulk of the army and quickly. _

_The Archdemon released its hold on the emissary letting his non-corporeal form drift above the battlefield till he found a new host, a particularly savage looking ogre no more than twenty yards from the Ferelden King. The Archdemon descended looking like a wisp of cloud passing into the ogre's back overshadowing the monstrous creature. _

_The dragon now processing an ogre's body effortlessly tore through the knights and men-at-arms opposing him, tearing limbs and heads from bodies and tossing them about like ragdolls. The battle was lost for the humans the dragon realized as the image of their reinforcements retreating entered into his mind. _

_The human king, a fair-haired man, cut savagely at a darkspawn Hurlock sending the creature to the ground in its death spasms. The beast advanced batting one of the king's guards away and reached out, grabbing the King and hoisting him into the air. The dragon in his thrall roared at the king enjoying the frightened look the man's face before the beast gave a violent jerk breaking the king's spine in half. Internally laughing he threw the body away sending it flying into several soldiers like a grisly missile. His actions had the desired effects as the surviving Ferelden soldiers began to rout; all but one._

_The one who did not flee rose upon from the ground brandishing two gleaming blades and charged letting loose a mighty battle cry. He crossed the distance quickly and leapt plunging his blades into the ogre's chest. The Grey Warden, for that's what he realized the man was, pulled out his right blade and stabbed it back in before doing the same with the left. He continued climbing the ogre's chest until the dragon felt the body slipping and released his hold over it._

_The Old God released its hold and exited the beast leaving it to die; he had more important tasks to accomplish. Two Wardens had decimated the darkspawn in the tower and though more were streaming in he wanted to slay these two trouble makers himself. _

_The shapeless, ethereal dragon flew up and into the keep of the tower and possessed the largest darkspawn he could find, a Hurlock Alpha wearing a helmet made from the skull of an ox. The Dragon rolled his new neck and hefted the weight of his axe and looked upon the two Wardens with mortal eyes. _

_The first, a male, was unremarkable even his fighting style was barely above average but the female… the female was something else. Like the Warden who slew his last form she wielded two blades but she wielded them with a grace rarely seen among mortals, as she carved a deadly swath through the attacking darkspawn. He was impressed… a pity he had to slay her._

_Holding the axe in his right hand he let it drag along the floor behind him as he advanced on the pair of Grey Wardens. With a mental command, he reigned in the blood lust of the other darkspawn and ordered them back. _

_The humans looked confused and looked from one darkspawn to another swords and shield held ready. Then they saw him coming as all the other darkspawn stepped aside to make a path._

_The beast hefted his axe and held it across his chest as he advanced on the Wardens. The Grey Wardens fell back slowly retreating and giving ground. The dragon roared through its puppet and attacked with a powerful overhead stroke. The male Warden took the blow on the shield and the force of the blow staggered him. The Old God did not hesitate striking out with his axe and he made contact with the Warden's leg, flipping him in the air and sending him crashing to the ground._

_He then attacked viciously and female impressed him by dodging the first and second blows. However the third strike she could not dodge and the axe buried itself in the plate armor of her left arm. The Dragon roared as he smelt blood. The Warden, not so easily slain, then yanked her arm back sending the axe flying. _

_The Dragon too would not be easily defeated and before she could recover he thrust out his fist catching her across the face with such a force it knocked her onto her back. Picking up the male Warden's sword he stood over her, her blue eyes glittering with hate as she cradled her bleeding arm. He prepared to make the final blow when a noise distracted him. Suddenly the room exploded in white light and the Old God lost its connection to its host._

_Blinking and roaring in momentary confusion the Dragon found itself back in its own body beneath the earth in the Deep Roads swearing that whoever did this would pay._

"Your Majesty," a voice came from seemingly out of nowhere, "Milady," it repeated stronger and louder. Cecilia shook the haze from her mind and turned to tell Tiberius to get some rest when she realized that the night had gone and sunlight was pouring in through the windows.

"Yes," she said or rather tried to say as her mouth was bone dry. Finally working moisture back into his mouth he repeated more intelligibly, "Yes?"

The General had a concerned look on his face, "We are ready to break camp… are you alright."

Slowly stretching to loosen muscles frozen during the night she nodded, "Yes I am fine. Let us break camp."

XXX

Prince Charles of Orlais the second son of the Empress Celene I strode through the halls of the palace at Val Royeauex the capital of the Orlesian Empire. The palace befitted the center of the most powerful nation in Thedas, with rich and luxurious tapestries decorating the windows and walls. Most of said tapestries depicted Orlais many military triumphs throughout the history of their great land.

Unlike his brother, Prince Phillip, Charles spent most of his time with the Chevaliers training for the inevitable moment their martial skills would be called upon to defend the empire. Phillip on the other hand was a consummate politician and spent his time playing the Great Game at the court.

As he approached the chambers of Empress, his mother, he was briefly challenged by two golden plated Royal Guardsmen of the _de Gendarmerie de l'Impératrice_ . Quickly they let him pass into Empress's study where his mother awaited.

"Ahh… Charles," the most powerful woman in the world said sitting up without ruffling her gaudy and extremely expensive dress that was embedded with all kinds of diamonds, rubies and other precious gems. Her outfit probably cost more than most freeholders made in years., "Have a seat," she gestured with a bejeweled hand.

The prince bowed before finding a plush goose feather stuffed chair and sat down somewhat uneasily in his plate armor, "Mother," he said with a respectful nod. Mother or not she was the Empress, "For what reason have you summoned me from the field?"

He had been on the training field overseeing the mêlée when he was ordered to the palace. He had expected his mother to call on him and order him North to the border shared by the Tevinter Imperium. In the recent months they had received word that the Qunari had recently launched a massive offensive against the Imperium. The Tevinter legions and magisters seemed to be holding and the Qunari offensive had ground to a halt, however if the heathens broke through all of Thedas would be left open to them.

However it seemed that his mother was determined to surprise him and her questioned did just that, "What do you know of Ferelden?"

"Ferelden," Charles said not bothering to conceal the confusion on his face, "Ferelden is the nation on our southeastern border. They were instrumental in defeating the last Blight under the late King Alistair and his Queen Elissa. The current Queen is Cecilia Theirin their daughter and only child."

The Empress caught his eye, "The Fereldans are a puzzle. As a people, they are one bad day away from reverting to barbarism. They repelled invasions from Tevinter during the height of the Imperium with nothing but dogs and their own obstinate disposition. They are the coarse, willful, dirty, disorganized people who somehow gave rise to our prophet, ushered in an era of enlightenment, and toppled the greatest empire in history."

"One can assume a few things in dealing with these people: First, they value loyalty above all things, beyond wealth, power, and reason. Second, although few things in their country are remarkable to outsiders, they are extremely proud of their accomplishments. Third, if one insults their dogs, they are likely to declare war. And finally, one has underestimated Fereldans when he thinks he has come to understand them," the Empress finished not once breaking eye contact.

While not the political mastermind his brother was Charles still prided himself on his intelligence, "They are certainly more than they appear to be," he offered before taking a deep draught of the brandy the servant had brought.

The Empress took a small piece of sugared pastry off a platter and took a dainty bite, "What do you think of the young Queen."

"From what I have heard… she's quite a beautiful woman … and deadly warrior," he paused as a servant refilled his brandy, "Why do you ask?"

"She may just be your future wife," his mother said popping another treat into her mouth.

It was only through the grace of the Maker that Charles didn't end up spitting the brandy all over his mother, "What?" Given everything he heard about the Queen of Ferelden he doubted she'd want an Orlesian husband.

"I have long been working to create an alliance between Orlais and Ferelden," the Empress said holding out a letter, "before you and your brother were born I tried to enter into a marriage alliance with Calian, but he died before anything could come of it. It's all been taken care off. Hed to Denerim and the Queen will announce the marriage."

"I'll set out the day after tomorrow with a company of the Chevaliers," the prince said after a long moment of thought. The Chevaliers were the cream of the Orlesian knights of great fighting prowess, "I'll take the main road south to the Hot Gates." 

The Empress nodded in agreement and they both shared a private little laugh. The Hot Gates were the name of a pass between the northern edge of the Frostback Mountains and the Waking Sea. It was the only passage capable of supporting the travel of an army from Orlais into Ferelden and both the Orlesians and Fereldans knew that.

At its narrowest it was only a mile wide and served as a perfect chokepoint. Decades ago during the Orlesian invasion of Ferelden a small force of three hundred Ferelden knights and men-at-arms assembled to defend the pass while King Darlan assembled the rest of his vassals.

The Fereldans fought valiantly and delayed the Orlesian advance for nearly a week before they were finally overwhelmed and slaughtered. The delay could have proven fatal to the invasion if the King's army had been able to meet the Orlesian before they regrouped.

However the weather had turned against the Fereldans and their army was bogged down in the bad weather. By the time the weather had cleared the Orlesians had regrouped and the Fereldans were crushed as a result. With the main Fereldan army destroyed the country crumbled and the Orlesians marched into Denerim nearly unopposed. The battle of the Hot Gates had however entered legend where a few stood against many to protect their country in a battle they knew they could not win.

Now he was going to enter Ferelden in peace through the same pass that so many of his countrymen died to force their way in.

XXX

Cecilia Theirin Queen of Ferelden, General Ser Markus Tiberius, the dwarf Dakrak and three other hand-picked knights rode through the wilderness of the Korcari Wilds. Two by two they rode ever alert for ambushes and barbarian Chasind warriors.

"I don't like this," Tiberius said as he scanned the thick woodland for threats. "The Chasind barbarians could be anywhere." Turning his gaze back to his Queen he continued, "Where are we to find this Witch?"

"Don't worry Tiberius. She's been aware of us since the moment we entered the Wilds," the Queen said calmly. Her… 'condition' gave her a natural affinity for detecting magic and the mages who weld it. As the Witch had been aware of her, so too had she been aware of the Witch's presence.

"She coming to us?" the General growled in disbelief, his eyes hard through the slit in his helm, "How do know?"

Beneath her helmet Cecilia chuckled darkly. Tiberius never was one who liked being kept in the dark and took his job as her second very seriously, "Magic to me stands out like a torch in the night… those who use it cannot hide from me. " At his look of interest she continued, "Remember twas the Old Gods who first taught men magic…" she paused, closing her eyes and concentrating. She spent a brief few seconds searching for the witch before finding her. Opening her eyes she ordered, "On your guard."

They continued on for a bit longer. Tiberius ever on guard rested his hand atop the hilt of his sword. The rest of the men as if sensing their general's anxiety wearily moved forward always checking their flanks.

"Well, well, well what do we have here," a feminine voice called from atop a small bluff overlooking the group, "Who are these that trespass in my woo?. Are you adventurers? Or thieves perhaps come to plunder and pillage that which has been lost?"

Cecilia smiled beneath her helm as she saw the witch, pleased as things were going according to plan. "Neither," she said with a wave of her hand to silence her men and then maneuvered her horse to the forefront of their small company. "I seek neither adventure nor fortune."

The beautiful young witch who looked no older than twenty smiled saucily placing her hands on her hips, "So brave knight what you do then seek?"

Ignoring the mistaken, title Cecilia said to the witch's great surprise, "I seek you Flemeth," a small cruel smile touched the Queen's lips. "Or do you prefer the name Morrigan? I do believe it was your original name."

The moment Morrigan's hands touched her staff, Cecilia's knights drew their swords and gripped the reigns of their horses. "Call off your hounds or they shall suffer," she growled, her yellow eyes hard as she spread her hands. Her right held her staff which glowed with arcane power while in her left she held a ball of fire.

"Do not test my temper witch," Cecilia said coldly resting her hand on the pommel of her sword, "as it is I have need of your services."

Morrigan balked in indignation, "Am I mercenary or a whore that you think can be bought."

The Queen of Ferelden replied in a matter of fact tone. "Gold does not interest you but knowledge does. And as knowledge leads to power it is a worthy bargain. "

A cold chuckle passed the witch's lips, "What knowledge could you offer me knight?"

Cecilia licked her lips. "You knew my mother, Elissa Cousland; the woman who slew the Archdemon… the only Grey Warden to ever survive the slaying of an Archdemon." The witch didn't say anything but she knew she had piqued her interest. "In her journal she spoke of an offer you made on the eve of that great battle… an offer she refused," and she let that hang in the air. "Plus you don't really have a choice in the matter."

The witch's lips twitched and she thrust out her hand to hurl a bolt of flame at them when Cecilia chanted under her breath, "Incendia absentis," and with that the flame in the witch's hand extinguished.

"How?" Morrigan started with an astounded and terrified look on her face especially when she glanced up and saw one of the knights at a crossbow aimed at her chest. "It appears you have the better of me," she paused, "I accept your arrangement… now where pray-tell?"

"I want you to take me to the Urn of Sacred Ashes."

XXX

It was in the dead of night in Denerim when the Antivan Crow named Hector slipped into the city. It was a simple enough matter of disguising himself to mesh with the influx of travelers coming and going for the Grand Tourney.

Making his way through the city he eventually arrived at the Antivan Embassy in the far north eastern part of the city near the smaller of the city's two main dockyards. Approaching the door he knocked twice before fishing a small token from his vest. When a small slot in the door opened he dropped it through.

After several long seconds Hector heard the sound of someone unlatching the door. The heavy wooden door creaked open revealing a young serving boy. "Welcome," the boy said timidly as he fully opened the door and held out the token.

Taking it back Hector slipped it back into his vest pocket. The token was minted and given to each individual crow when they became full-fledged assassins and marked with a unique symbol for each assassin. The moment said assassin went active the symbol was sent from Gilbran to the far-flung safe houses used by the Crows. They were used as a sort of identification amongst the assassins.

The boy quickly motioned to follow him and led the young assassin through the embassy and up to the second level to what Hector assumed was the ambassador's study. As he got close he could already feel the heat from the fire warming the cold night.

"Hector we were beginning to think something terrible befell you," Sophia, a female human assassin with long flowing back hair said with false sympathy. Hector frowned back at her. Sophia for all her beauty had the disposition of snake and the cold blood to go with it.

Raphael, a human male, chuckled leaning forward on the couch, "Run into some trouble with the city guard?"

"No," Hector said shaking his head. As a Crow you had to be careful… everything was a competition in among the assassins. My horse fell on my way through the Free Marches and broke its leg. I had to steal another horse to make it to Kirkwall to catch a ship."

"That's alright," the ambassador said from the couch across from Sophia and Raphael, "take a seat."

Hector found a chair and did. All Antivan Ambassadors were Crows and their embassies took on the additional role as the headquarters for all Crow operations in said country.

"My name is Louis… Louis Soto," he said taking a sip of amber brandy. Smacking his lips in delight he declared, "Genuine Ativan Brandy. You have no idea how hard it is to find good liquor in this dog infested country," He gestured to a servant a young boy with a tray of crystal glasses filled with amber liquid.

Hector reached out and took the glass and hesitated. It was an old rule for assassins 'never let anyone else pour your drink', as you never knew what they had done to it. The rule stood even at Gilbran, you made your own food and poured your own drinks lest you fall prey to a jealous competitor. Carefully he studied and sniffed the drink. There were some poisons that gave themselves away from a certain discoloration of the liquid they were in or by their smell.

Eventually he decided that it would make sense for the ambassador to poison them as he stood to make a not-unsubstantial cut of the profits when the Ferelden Queen died, "Cheers," the young assassin said as he downed the drink.

When they had all downed their drinks the Ambassador set his glass down and leaned forward propping his elbows on the table, "Now to business," he said reclining in his chair, "namely the death of the Queen of Ferelden."

"How are we to proceed," Hector asked calmly. Another thing about the Crows was most of the mission were planned by the higher ups while the rank and file merely carried out the hits.

"In twelve days' time the Grand Tourney of Ferelden will begin and the Queen will be participating in both the joust and the Grand Mêlée," the elder Crow grinned a devious little grin, "after which we shall kill her in her own bed as she sleeps."

"How," Raphael huffed, "with the Sovereign's Own, the cream of Ferelden nobility, the city guard and hundreds of knights and men-at-arms who will be competing for the title of champion all present."

"Precisely," Sophia grinned taking another sip, "with all the commotion the palace staff will be forced to hire outside help to keep up with the demand for service."

"Very good," the Ambassador said approvingly. "I've managed arrange for the three of you too be hired onto the palace staff for the duration of the Grand Tourney."

"When do we make our move?" Raphael asked eagerly as he leaned.

"After the Champion's feast, when everyone is drunk on too much wine and brandy and slow from overeating," the ambassador answered with a sly smile. "When the Queen retreats to her quarters for the night you shall slip past her guards and kill her as she sleeps."

"Would it not be simpler if we poisoned her during her meal?" Sophia voiced wily. Poisons after all were her specialty; in fact it rather unnerved him just how deadly she was with poisons.

"No it wouldn't," Raphael answered back. "Our assignment is for the Queen and the Queen alone. If we use poison there is no telling how many people die and that wasn't the contract."

"Exactly," the ambassador said with a snap of his fingers, "plus the contractor wants her death to be a particularly brutal one."

Hector nodded as the ambassador went on bringing out maps of the Ferelden Royal Palace and began to inform the three assassins what their duties could consist of while they played servant and when the time to strike finally came.

XXX

Any normal woman would have been frozen half to death sitting out on her horse encased in her armor, but the Queen of Ferelden was no ordinary woman. Tiberius, Dakrak and the witch woman where wrapped as tightly as they could be in many layers of blankets to protect them from the frigid mountain air. The rest of his knights waited at the foot of the mountain with the horses.

"Witch," Tiberius huffed wrapping his wool cloak rightly around himself, "how much farther!"

"Tis not far," the witch said through quaking blue lips. The sanctum of Andraste rests at the top of the mountain," she then paused, "but I know not what you want with the ashes of a dead woman," she directed the comment towards Cecilia.

"Tis none of your concern witch," she said glancing back at the witch through the eye slit in her helmet, "and it is not only the ashes I seek."

"While normally I am all for petulant rumors," the witch hissed, "I grow impatient with this. I have led you to one of the most remote places in all Thedas guarded by a high drag…," she cut off immediately and her eyes narrowed. "The dragon. You're after the dragon?"

"Sodding…," Dakrak trailed off, "we're hunting a sodding high dragon," he paused, "milady I would never disobey an order but…"

"Be at ease," the Queen replied smirking beneath her helmet. "We're not hunting the dragon… I have far more important… aspirations for the beast. Now follow me," she finished and turned her back to them.

As she trudged through the snow she kept glancing up towards the peak of the mountain. When they reached the top a large structure became clear. The temple was built right into the side of the mountain and was of a similar design to the Cathedral in Val Royeaux or more likely the Cathedral of the Blessed Andraste was designed to resemble the temple here.

"The dragon resides at the top of the mountain right before the citadel," Morrigan explained through blue lips and amongst shivers, "it protects the resting place of the ashes."

"How are to deal with the dragon?" Tiberius questioned as they approached the tower wooden doors of the temple. It was an honest question. They processed neither ballista nor catapult which with to bring the beast down; nor spear and lance to pierce its scaly skin.

"Leave that to me," Cecilia answered sternly as she ran her hand over the raised engravings on the doors. Strange, she mused she would have thought that door would have been rotten to the core. She closed her eyes and concentrated and ahhh there it was the faint trace of magic that kept this door and most likely the temple from crumbling into dust.

Slowly they entered the temple and even Dakrak who'd grown up amongst the vast halls of the Dwarven city of Orzammar stood in awe of the ancient temple. Despite the intactness of the structure as a whole the interior had degraded. The magnificent tapestries and rugs which had hung from the walls and lay on the floors were little more than strips cloth and thread.

Amongst the faded glory were scores of corpses and these corpses were not rotten pieces of decayed flesh or bones but relatively whole bodies preserved by the freezing temperatures of the mountain. Cecilia studies the corpses. They wore mail and brigand armor of relatively recent make; these were defined not from the time of Andraste.

"They're dragon worshipers," Morrigan responded to the unasked question. "They believed the dragon we seek was their prophet reborn," she continued throwing a pointed look at Cecilia. "These ones ran afoul of your mother. There was once a whole village of them at the base of the mountain."

Beneath helm Elissa frowned. The soul of the Old God within her gave her knowledge far beyond her mortal years and the meticulous records her mother had kept on her adventures during the Blight gave her base of knowledge few others could match. However the events surrounding the Urn had been removed from the journal. It annoyed her to no end. "What happened to the village?"

"I do not know," the witch admitted with a shrug.

Cecilia growled a deep growl before noticing Tiberius had frozen and a brief flash of realization passed over his face, "Have something to share Tiberius?"

The knight slowly nodded for an instant, "Several years after you were born, after order in the kingdom had been fully reestablished, your mother led a select group of knights to a small village at the base of this mountain and put to the sword every living being we found. It never made sense till now."

"She slaughtered the villagers," Dakrak said with a hint surprise in his tone, "that doesn't sound like her."

"The Queen was concerned the location of the ashes would get out and that she could not bare," Tiberius intoned wily, "she wished… for whatever reason to keep this site a secret."

"She thought the ashes holy. She wished to protect them from those she believed unworthy…" she said calmly, "let us advance."

And advance they did through the aged temple with Morrigan, the only return guest, leading the way through the halls and corridors, "Tis this way," she finally said.

"The Ashes?" Tiberius questioned.

"No they are beyond," the swamp witch said as she came to stop at another wooden gate. Morrigan turned, a wicked smile touching her lips, "The dragon."

"Finally," the Queen hissed and pushed her way through the gateway only to find herself once more outside the temple. She was about to reel on Morrigan when she saw another structure another part of the temple, the Citadel most likely, rising from the mountain.

She glanced around searching for a nest or something to give away the dragon's location and finally found what she was looking for. Hanging from steel railing was golden gong upon which a face of a dragon rose from the plate.

As she advanced on the gong she heard Tiberius call out from behind her, "Highness, what are you planning?"

The Queen of Ferelden paid the general of her armies no heed she reached out and slammed her gauntlet covered fist into the gong causing it to rattle and send out a low resounding note across the mountain side. For a moment the only sound on the mountain was the ring of the gong echoing throughout the mountain but the call was soon answered as deep roar shattered the serenity of the valley.

Cecilia ignored Morrigan's curses of surprise as she watched a shadow fall over her hand the temple ground. She glanced up and saw the terrifying form of the high dragon falling from the sky like a bolt of purple lightening.

"Stay your blades and your magic," Cecilia whispered though the level of her voice did nothing to assay the command laced throughout it.

Tiberius and Dakrak did so without hesitating as they were forsworn to her, but Morrigan looked uneasy as she held her staff across her body in a defensive position, "Are you insane," the witch hissed, "Even my magic would do little against that spawn of…"

The Queen reached beneath her helm and pulled it from her head so her icy eyes could stare at the witch's sulfurous ones, "So at last you understand," she said knowingly before turning to face the dragon. Cecilia stalked towards the creature with her hand outstretched. The dragon regarded her coolly through blood red eyes, its frill twitching in curiosity and its massive talons raking at the ground.

"My Queen," Tiberius said with a slight tremor in his tone as his hand gripped tightly at the hilt of longsword.

"Shhh Tiberius," she said sternly before returning her gaze to the dragon which still hadn't move. Closing the distance between her and the magnificent beast she pulled her glove from her right hand held out her hand and after a few seconds the dragon lowered its head and pushed the tip of its nose into her outstretched palm.

Cecilia shuddered for a spilt second as she reached out with her or perhaps more precisely Argon's soul and touched the dragon's mind, _Child… hear me_, the Queen of Ferelden called out ethereally.

Beneath her touch the dragon squirmed; its eyes blinking pathetically as it whined and moaned. Finally the beast collapsed as its fore and hind legs buckled and gave out. Cecilia could feel as the creature's resistance faded, _Obey_, she all but burned into the dragon's mind, _obey… obey…obey obeyobeyobeyobey_.

With such a savage snarl that no one knew whether it came from her or the great dragon Cecilia tore her hand from the dragon's head leaving behind a searing A in both the beast's flesh and in the palm of her hand, "Leave," she bit harshly, "and come when I call you!"

With that the mighty high dragon took off like a colt fleeing a wolf and took flight on its wing up into the mountain peaks. Cecilia watched it take flight before turning back to her astonished company, "Now let us fetch the Urn."

XXX

"Whoa their Agrippa," Prince Charles of Orlais whispered to his stallion as he pet the noble beast's neck, "What is wrong?" When the horse bucked once more the Prince called the column to a halt. The men-at-arms traveling with the company began to spread out along the road with spears points gleaming in the midday sun.

Charles became aware of the sound of the clopping of hooves upon the road and turned back to see his second Baron Caron De Dalacroix riding up beside him. The man's sliver plate glistened in the sun as he slid open the visor from his green crested head, "What is wrong my prince?"

Flipping open the visor of his own helm the prince glanced around the road which had thick wood on either side for about a hundred paces on each side. This wood would continue on for a league until the left side thinned and revealed the sea and the road that led to the Hot Gates itself.

"Something is wrong my friend," Charles said softly. Agrippa was a fine horse and not easily spooked. When the other horses began to buck and nay Charles felt his stomach drop. He was about to give a call to arms when the Baron fell from his horse. The Prince gave a quick glance and saw a black fletched arrow had passed in between the plates, pierced the mail and lodged in the man's throat.

Almost immediately the call to arms went up, and as a hail of arrows descended upon the column as the men-at-arms and Chevaliers struggled to form into ranks. A horrible scream arose from the forest that chilled all of the men of Orlais to the marrow of their bones.

"Darkspawn," a cry from one of the Chevaliers arose.

Charles threw his gaze towards the forest's edge where hundreds of the beasts emerged giving savage screams. The master of the Orlesian armies did a quick count. The 'spawn' were too many to split his men amongst the foot and the horse. Charles drew his sword from its sheath, "Dismount," he called even as he swung himself from the saddle.

The moment his armored boots hit the ground, Charles spun and pulled his heater shield from its position on his horse. With shield secure he rushed towards the line of men-at-arms; they held large oval wooden shields covered in steel, long spears, a coat of chainmail, a surcoat bearing the _fleur-de-lis_, the royal symbol of Orlais, and topped by a steel helm.

Charles glanced to his right to see the other Chevaliers had done the same and were rushing to enforce the men-at- arms who held their shields and spears out in an imitation of the phalanx championed by the city states of the Free Marches.

The darkspawn crashed into the wall of spears like a great wave upon the shore. Many of the vermin skewered themselves on the spears, but the weight of putrid flesh forced the men back.

"Hold," the Prince shouted as he used his shield to push the man in front of him forward, "Hold brave men of Orlais," he shouted again as he thrust his sword over the ranks and into the neck of one of the darkspawn.

Even with the Chevaliers adding their weight to the mass of men the spawn still wore them down; pushing them back inch by inch. The Prince thrust his sword again and another darkspawn fell dead. The Prince grit his teeth and pushed hard against the back of the man in front of him even as he felt the man shuttered as a spear was driven into him.

"Hold you miserable bastards," the Prince bellowed even though he could tell the fight was becoming desperate.

Suddenly the Prince became aware of another battle cry though this one belonged to neither the darkspawn nor the men of Orlais. He glanced to the left and saw a dozen armored men on horses galloping at full speed with swords drawn.

Charles caught a flash of a heraldry which he recognized as belonging to Arl Chester the new Arl of the West Hills and the defender of the Hot Gates. The mounted Ferelden knights didn't charge into the back of the darkspawn mass as they lacked lances and spears so instead harassed the 'spawn' at the rear by charging in slashing and killing a few and pulling back.

That attack and withdrawal had the desired effect of relieving some of the pressure on the Orlesian men-at-arms as the 'spawn' began to chase the Ferelden horsemen. With a shout of triumph the infantrymen broke through the center of their enemy's formation and the gruesome darkspawn began flee. Without the Archdemon to bolster their will they weren't nearly so formidable.

"Run ya bastards run back to the bleeding Deep Roads," the man, who the prince could only assume was the Arl himself, cursed as the darkspawn fled.

Sheathing his sword the Prince barked out orders to collect the wounded and dead and put them in the wagons while piling the slaughtered darkspawn to be burnt. Turning back to the man he assumed was the Arl the Prince of Orlais took a deep breath and spoke what was hopeful passible Fereldan, "Do I have the pleasure of addressing the Arl of the West Hill?"

"Ya do, Orlesian," the mounted nobleman said as he glared from behind eye slit of his great helm as his sword was still drawn, "Now what business do you have in Ferelden?"

Reaching down into his satchel he drew the letter his mother had given him bearing the seal of the Queen of Ferelden,"I am Charles of Orlais sent on behalf of my mother the Empress to treat with your Queen."

From what Charles could see the Arl didn't look at all pleased, but at least he sheathed his sword and his men slowly did the same, "Very well Orlesian," he said gruffly and spared a glance to the Prince's men, "Bring your men and your wounded to the castle and we'll find food and healers for you."

The Prince bowed and brought his right fist up against his chest, "Much appreciated, but I'm afraid I must keep hard to the road if I'm to meet the Queen in Denerim."

"The Queen's not in Denerim," he said sternly, "she's with a few of her knights in the Frostback for only Maker knows what. If you come with me to Castle West Hill your men can get some much needed rest and healing and you'll be able to meet up with the Queen as she exits the mountain range on her way back to Denerim."

Charles nodded as he remembered what his mother had said about Fereldan pride and stubbornness, "Thank you. I will be most thankful to accept on behalf of myself and my men."

XXX

With a savage twist Cecilia yanked her sword out of the Guardian of the Urn of Scared Ashes' gut and the ancient Alamarri warrior fell clutching the fatal wound. Without pity or hesitation Cecilia raised her sword again and drove the point into the Guardian's neck severing his spinal column. Pulling her sword from his neck she wiped the end with a small silk handkerchief before re-sheathing her sword.

She stalked down the corridor at a speed that for most would have been considered suicidal considering the amount of magical traps protecting this holy resting place, but with her innate abilities to detect and repeal magic it was child's play to her.

The Queen of Ferelden made her way to the end of the corridor where a massive and intricately carved, ceiling high, double wooden doors blocked her way. Reaching out she pushed at the right side door and pushed hard, but found that it wouldn't budge. Taking a deep breath she placed her palm flat against the door.

She found the door was magically sealed against intruders. Slowly she began a chant in an ancient guttural tone… a spell from when man and even the elves were still young. She had before told Tiberius she couldn't perform magic, or at least magic as the Circle of Magi, the Chantry and the Templars knew . However there were certain unnatural primordial sorcery that anyone could perform as long as they had the knowledge to perform it and the will to control it.

Slowly the magical runes on the door began to glow. It was dim at first but as she continued to chant the runes got brighter and brighter until their light filled the entire room. As the light reached its apex the runes began to fade one by one until none remained.

After finishing the chant Cecilia took a step back, removed her helm and pulled back her chainmail hood to wipe at the sweet that was pouring down her face. Despite the fact that this lost temple was thousands of years old, the magic of this place was still strong; strong enough to tire an old god.

After catching her breath she replaced her hood and helm. With outstretched arms she threw all her weight up against the doors and for a second it again didn't even budge, but slowly with a steady application of force the doors began creak as it slowly opened. Cecilia managed to get the door opened enough to slip through.

"_Hello Cecilia_," a voice sounded from behind her.

The Queen froze at the eerily familiar tone and felt her heart clench. Turning around slowly she found herself looking at the disappointed stare of her mother dressed in the bone white suit of armor that the famed Master Wade had made for her. An armor that in her escapades she had made famous.

It took her several seconds to realize what was going on. Her first thought was that like the Alamarri guardian. the former Grey Warden and Ferelden Queen had become an immortal protector of the place, but that thought died still born as her form wavered and became transparent for a split fraction of a second.

The shock on her face at the sight of her long dead mother faded and turned to cold amusement. It was nothing more than a mere memory of her mother summoned by the power of this place.

Cecilia's mother, the late Queen Elissa Theirin, had been a harsh taskmaster in both teaching her the arts of politic and the skills of war. She had been harsh but fair demanding only of her child what she herself was willing to do. Her mother had ridden her in the saddle until the young princess's thighs bled, she had drilled her with sword until her arms felt like a stone and pushed her at her studies until Cecilia was sure her brain would drip out her ears.

She hadn't hated her mother for in fact the opposite, was true, she had loved it and excelled to master everything her mother or her mentors could throw at her as she recognized the service it could do her later. Everything came easy to her and she suspected it was because of the Old God of War. It certainly seemed like everything she was taught was an old memory which only needed prodding for it to open and spill out its secrets.

"Mother so good to see you again," the current Queen said to the former.

Elissa's disapproving mask cracked for a second and her eyes showed a brief glimpse of the joy she felt about seeing her only child. But it didn't last long and when the mask was back in place again she said, "_Cecilia please stop whatever it is you're planning… you do not want to do this_."

Beneath her helm Cecilia felt her lip curl, "You have no idea what my plans are mother and for that I can partially thank you. After all you taught me to be careful and disguise my intentions."

The former Queen's eyes flashed with rage, "_I_ _didn't teach you to kill the sacred guardian of Andraste's ashes! I didn't teach you to defile the most sacred place in all of the Thedas! I tried to teach to be a good Queen not a heretic!_"

"You knew what I was," she countered softly with steel lacing her tone, "from the moment I was born you knew what I was capable of doing. If you were so concerned maybe you should have drowned me as a babe."

The eyes of her mother's spirit went wide in horror at the thought of killing her only daughter, "_Cecilia,_" she hissed in pain, "_I would never_…"

"Be gone spirit and trouble me no more," Cecilia intoned with a dismissive wave of her hand and pushed her way through the spirit of her mother. Despite her rather abrupt attitude the appearance of her mother affected her mother than she would like to admit.

As she moved through the ethereal figure, she felt a hand grasp her shoulder; not the plate or the mail or the tunic beneath, but the flesh of her shoulder. Surprised by the icy grasp, Cecilia spun with her hand dropping to her sword in preparation to draw it. Instead she found nothing. The spirit of her mother was gone.

The Queen glanced to her left and right looking for any trace of her mother but when she could not find a single trace of her she turned back around and set off down the corridor to where the object of her little adventure into the temple rested.

With only the metallic thumping of her boots and the crackle of the magically created torches echoing throughout the massive chamber Cecilia entered the sanctum of the Ashes, the final resting place of the mortal remains of the prophet and bride of the Maker.

Slowly one step at a time she made her way up the white marble stairs that even after all this time had remained clean and pristine as they day when Andraste's most faithful followers had carved this temple out of the mountain side. It was an odd sight to see the obsidian armored figure against the pure white of the interior as the Queen ascended to the top of the stairs.

When she reached the apex of the stairs she stopped and a small smirk touched the corner of her lips as she looked upon the ornate urn containing Andraste's ashes. With every step she took she felt her heart beat faster. It wasn't because the ashes were sacred or holy, but because this was the first step in her plans… plans that would take her and Ferelden to unimaginable greatness… and at last she would have some small measure of vengeance.

Wordlessly she pulled out a small leather pouch and collected a fair sample of the ashes. Once the pouch was secure on her belt she turned her gaze back on the Urn. While she had what she needed for her plan she wanted to send a message… a declaration of war as it was. With slow deliberate movements she undid the gauntlet covering her right hand. Letting the armor piece drop to the floor she drew her long knife and slowly drew the blade across her palm leaving behind a fiery line of blood.

Holding her hand over the Urn she squeezed a few drops of blood into the ashes while at the same time she spoke a few words in the same guttural language as before. When she finished smoke began to rise from the urn as the curse took hold and a great wailing scream filled the sanctum as the ashes were defiled.

With a satisfied smirk she sheathed her long knife, wrapped her hand in her silk handkerchief and replaced her gauntlet back on her hand, "That is for my brothers," she spat and turned to exit the temple and reunite with Tiberius and the others.

XXX

**I hope you all like the first chapter. If you have any questions please ask and I'll try to answer them in the next chapter or later in the story itself.**

**Also if you noticed in the first chapter I changed the name of the Old God who became the Archdemon of the Fifth Blight to better fit what I was trying to do with my story.**

**Review Please.**


	3. Chapter 2

**The Dragon Queen: Beginnings **

Chapter 2: Decisions and Preparations

Prince Charles of Orlais found himself in the most interesting circumstances to date. Two days ago his company had been assaulted by a roving band of darkspawn. With his men-at-arms and chevaliers outnumbered and being slowly pushed back the Prince had feared that it might have been his last battle. It probably would have if a Fereldan Arl and his knights hadn't happen upon the skirmish and turned the tide.

And now he was resting fairly comfortably at Castle West Hill as a guest of Arl Chester while his men were being tended to by the healers and he himself waited upon the Queen of Ferelden to return from a jaunt in the Frostback Mountains.

He frowned at the thought of the woman who would most likely be his wife. He'd never meet Cecilia Theirin in personal and unless it was on the field of battle he'd never expected to. Oh how the fates like to play with us, he thought as he gazed out into the town nestled around the castle.

To the rest of Thedas Fereldens seemed un-cloth, uncivilized and barbarous. As Charles sent some time among them he found that the word practicality was a word that was best used to describe them and it was actually something to be admired. This very castle was perfect example of that. In Orlais sucj structures were built and decorated to suit the taste of the noble who commissioned them. Most often these castles were lavishly decorated and constructed in an ascetically pleasing manner as more of a fashion statement than a fortress.

Here you didn't find that. This castle was obviously designed as a layered death-trap to control the passage into Ferelden and from Charles could tell it would take a very determined army to breach these walls. Even then any enemy would leave scores of dead upon the ramparts as they threw themselves upon the stone walls.

"Your highness," the rich voice of the Baron De Dalacroix abounded from the tower door to this section of the battlements, "As you have requested I have send a missive and rider to the Empress explain or situation and the events of that have taken place."

The Prince glanced at the Baron and then the impassive Ferelden man-at-arms behind him. While the Arl was letting them stay at his castle he, understandably, wasn't going to allow Orlesian soldiers and Chevaliers to move around the grounds unwatched.

"The Arl allowed the missive to be sent unmolested," the Prince asked in the Fereldan tongue. He had ordered all his men capable of speaking it to do so lest the Arl have even more cause to worry.

"Aye he did," the Baron answered sounding somewhat surprised. The Baron was from an estate on the far northern border of the empire and had little dealing with Fereldans, "They not as bad as they first seemed, no," the nobleman said with a grin in the direction of the expressionless Fereldan man-at-arms.

"No they are not baron," Charles said with a small smirk, "as my mother said, 'one has underestimated Fereldans when he thinks he has come to understand them.'"

"Wiser words," De Dalacroix intoned the age old adage.

Charles was about to speak again when out of the corner of his eye he saw the Arl of the West Hills emerge from the same archways as the baron just minutes before. "Arl Chester," the Prince greeted with a short bow of the neck, "how do you fare on this fine day," he asked politely.

Charles didn't possess anywhere near the refined silver edged tongue that was credited to his mother and elder brother, but being a Prince of Orlais required some political skill. He knew what he had to do to put another noble at ease and keep him or her that way. It was a subtle manipulation that he absolutely despised but was necessary to merely survive in the Orlesian politics.

"I am well," the large bear of a man said gruffly. It had taken some time for the Prince to realize that the nobleman wasn't being rude that the gruff and surly appearance and his manner was just naturally how the Arl behaved. The big Arl glanced from the Prince to the Baron before looking back at Charles, "I have had words from my patrols that the Queen's party is less than an hour from the castle."

Charles felt his eyebrow hitch upwards, "They certainly made good time," he said study the horizon for the small specks that would herald the arrival of the ones they waited for. But he saw nothing… not that he expected too at the distance that Arl had been referring too.

"That they did," the Arl grumbled, "I've ordered my servants to prepare a feast to celebrate her visit to the West Hills," the man paused for a second before adding, "you are of course welcome to join me in the welcoming party."

Once more the prince bowed his head, "I graciously accept Arl Chester," the Orlesian said courteously, "now if I have your leave I would like to prepare to meet your Queen."

"Of course Prince Charles," the Arl said stepping to the side to allow the Prince and his baron to pass him on their way into the tower. As they made their way down the spiral stairs of the stone battlement tower Charles found himself once again glad that Ferelden architecture favored practical over gaudy. In an Orlesian castle the interior might be a virtual labyrinth meant to confuse guest as well as enemy. He was glad that for a change that the corridors led where they were supposed to lead instead of to an unimportant chamber or a dead end.

He entered the guest wing of the castle and past the quad of men-at-arms standing guard at the entrance. The guards gave them a cold stare reminding Charles of the ever watchful templars that stood vigilant the Orlesian Circle of Magi in Montsimmard.

The quest wing wasn't quite up to the expectations of the cream of Orlesian gentry, but Charles thought it was quite homely. Despite the early bitching by the Chevaliers he had been forced to suffer through the knights of Orlais had adjusted to their temporary accommodations… after all if this what the nobles were being forced to stay in then what were the common footmen were suffering through.

In his chamber Charles replaced the chainmail armor and surcoat he had worn beneath his battle plate with the fancier set normally worn for only the most formal of occasions. It took him far longer to dress in his armor because he was without a proper squire. His had died during the engagement with the darkspawn and the replacement he had borrowed from the one of the fallen Chevaliers wasn't familiar with this style of plate.

When the squire was finished Charles dismissed the makeshift squire and studied himself in the full length mirror. The plate he now wore was silver with a gold trim and on the breastplate engraved in solid gold was the Fleur-de-lis the ancient symbol of Orlais. To finish the look he strapped his perfectly crafted steel longsword with a large inlaid ruby fitted into the pommel.

The sword had been crafted for Geoffroi de Charny a distant member of the Imperial Family of Orlais who during the Third Blight won a magnificent battle against a horde of the foul darkspawn. As a reward he had been gifted with one of the most elegant swords to every come from the Royal Smiths of Orlais and had been adopted by the childless Drakon III as his own son. It was from that line that the current Empress Celene I and of course himself and his brother had also come from. As he was the warrior in the family his mother had given the sword to him to use to defend the empire. It was one of his most prized possessions.

Reaching out he grasped the final piece of his armor, a bascinet style helmet with a conical visor that like the armor was inlaid with gold trim. Tucking the helm under his left arm he exited the small apartment chamber and found six chevaliers and the baron de Dalacroix waiting arrayed in their full ceremonial armor.

"Baron," Charles acknowledged the nobleman at the head of the small column of chevaliers.

"My liege," the baron intoned in formal Orlesian bending low at the waist, "your honor guard awaits your command."

"Thank you Baron de Dalacroix," Charles answered as he fell into the center of the armored formation of fighting men. While many nobles had bodyguards to protect them even in the heart of their own domains the Orlesians had turned bodyguarding into an art form. It was necessary in a society where assassinations were common place.

They made their way through the through the halls of the castle, down the stairs and toward the gatehouse where the Arl and his retinue not so patiently waited their arrival. The Arl, his wife and his seneschal were standing just outside the raised portcullis dress in what were undoubtedly their finest garments.

Like the Orlesians the Arl and the seneschal wore plate armor though obviously not as elegant or stylish as the Prince, Baron and the Chevaliers. The armor they war was meant for war and was probably the same as the one they rode into battle at the Hot Gates wearing. The Arl's wife wore a dress in a style that if he remembered correctly was big in Orlais a few years back.

"My lords, lady," the Prince intoned as he and his retinue took positions. The cobbled road led out of the castle and across a stone bridge that was raised to cross the moat surrounding the castle. From his position he could see seven riders coming up the road. On closer look he saw that only five of the riders were knights. The other was dwarf with a long braided beard and another was a woman… a beautiful raven haired woman wearing the garb of a Chantry sister.

That caught his attention. All the reports he had read didn't mark her as the overtly religious type; certainly not enough to keep a sister of the Chantry in her personal retinue. That said it wasn't uncommon for a noble to keep a member of the clergy close and of course they could have met with the sister along the road, but what sister of the Chantry traveled along without a templar escort? Nonetheless he found his grace drawn to the more important matter of the horsemen.

He found the dragon heraldry that the Queen and her knights wore most fascinating. While it was customary for each new sovereign to choose a new heraldry to differentiate them from their forebears it was usually similar to the previous one. King Alistair's heraldry had two Mabari rearing back on their hind legs with a golden laurel wreath. Obviously the Mabari represented Ferelden and the laurels represented the Cousland family of which his wife had belonged. The roaring red high dragon with its wings majestically extended to their greatest outreach was a complete mystery.

As they Queen and her party passed through the gateway the Arl, the seneschal, the baron and the chevaliers bowed low at the waist while the Arlessa gave a formal curtsey. Charles while technically the Queen's inferior in noble rank he was still a royal and that gave him certain privileges above other nobles.

Instead of bowing he merely clamped his right his to his breast and inclined his head ever so gently as a show of respect. Again these subtle gestures came from living in a land where the slightest misstep could offend some baron, marquis, or duke and force said offender to spend the rest of his or her life dodging the assassin's blade.

"Your Majesty," the Alressa announced loudly, "you honor myself and my lord husband with your presence in our home."

The Queen inclined her armored head, "Thank you Arlessa. Your hospitality is much appreciated." The Queen's helm shifted and suddenly found himself staring into the bluest set of eyes he'd ever seen, "Charles, Prince of Orlais," the Queen asked though, he doubted it was truly a question, in flawless Orlesian.

Charles blinked before regaining his senses and spoke back in his native tongue, "That I am your majesty," switching back to Fereldan he gestured to his second, "this is Baron De Dalacroix. We had just past through the Hot Gates when we were beset upon by a large band of darkspawn. If it were not for the Arl…," he trailed off with a thankful gesture.

"Then he has our thanks," she said glancing at the Arl in question, "the death of a Prince of Orlais inside Ferelden would have been problematic to say the least."

To say the least Charles mused. Considering the relations and tensions between Ferelden and Orlais in the past the death of the Empress's son would cause a major diplomatic incident. At the very worst it could have started a war… rather ironic considering the purpose of his trip.

"If I may so bold your majesty would you care to introduce your companions," he questioned.

The courtyard went silent as everyone realized that the Prince had just called the Queen of Ferelden out on a protocol error and in the process committed one himself. He hesitated unsure what to say, but thankfully the queen chuckled, "Of course. Forgive me Prince Charles. It's been a long hard week upon the road."

"Think nothing of it," was his cool response.

Gesturing with her right hand to the woman, "This is sister Morgana of the Mairn Chantry," she shifted toward the dwarf and the knights, "this Dakrak of Orzammar, Ser Robert, Ser Raymond, and Ser Edward of the Sovergien's Own," finally she pointed at the last armored figure in the group, "General Markus Tiberius."

Outwardly Charles kept his face controlled and smiled while sparing a glance at General Tiberius in his ferocious looking blackened armor and horned helm. He recognized that name as belonging to a rather infamous knight who earned quite a ferocious reputation during the last years of the Orlesian occupation of Ferelden. The bloody bastard Tiberius they had called him in Orlais after the Battle of the Dragon's Peak where he had led raid against collaborators and butchered about three villages worth of men, women and children.

Loghain himself had congratulated the knight while according to legend Maric was disappointed by his brutal actions but ultimately did nothing. It Ferelden they had called him a hero. In Orlais the man was considered a savage barbarian. The new Queen certainty kept interesting company… this was going to interesting to say the very least.

XXX

At least he was handsome, Cecilia mused as she glanced down at the Orlesian Prince from her saddle. Finally Queen reached up and removed her helmet from her head allowing her golden hair free of its confines and tucked the helm under her right arm, "If we are finished with the introductions," she said with a aura of false politeness, "it has been a long hard day's ride and my men and I are exhausted."

The Arlessa bowed low again speaking for her husband, "We have drawn baths for you and your men and we have made preparations for a feast in your honor."

"The Arl and Arlessa are most kind," the queen replied with a carefully timed small smile gracing her lips as she handed the reins of her steed to a servant and with an ease that only came from years of practice dismounted her horse.

Moments later her knights and the disguised witch Morrigan did the same and handed over their mounts to the small army of servants that had emerged from the courtyard. The servants would take the steeds to one of the stables built inside where they would be fed, watered, rested and groomed in preparation for the final leg of their journey back to Denerim.

"Will the Sister be joining us your Highness," the Arlessa questioned politely referring to what most ironicly an apostate in Chantry robes, "Or would you like me to summon Mother Rosilin to expect a new Sister at the Chapel."

"The Sister," Cecilia said straining to keep any smirk from her face at the very thought of the witch being a member of the clergy, "will be joining us tonight."

Even as she said it she knew it was unusually for a lay Sister of the Chantry to dine with nobility but Cecilia wasn't willing to let the witch out of her sight and knew for a fact that any real Chantry Mother or Sister would sniff her out as an imposter in a second. Even before the Queen and her company had departed Denerim Cecilia had set the roots of this deceit down. Any inquiry to the Chantry in the tiny village of Marin would reveal that their indeed had been a lay sister of similar named Morgana who was of build and shape to Morrigan. What wasn't known was that the Sister had been killed by bandits just off the main Imperial Highway and in a marvelous twist of fate had been stumbled own by of of the Queen's Own.

While the ruse might not hold up under intense scrutiny it would hold for now. After all the Queen of Ferelden couldn't be seen dallying around with an apostate.

The Queen allowed the Arlessa to lead them to their apartments while the Arl led Tiberius off to the drilling field at the general had expressed a desire to inspect the Arl's men. The rest of her party where led by a manservant presumably to their own apartments. As the Arlessa escorted them she apparently decided that it was a good time to inform the Queen of the prestigious history of Castle West Hill.

Cecilia nodded feigning interest in a practice matter. She may not personally care about where the stone for the castle came from or from what line of Alamarri Chieftain the Arl and his family were descended from. However she knew that it was important to the Arlessa by taking the time to listen the Queen could gain the loyalty of an important noble for the price of a few minutes of her attention.

After a few minutes they arrived at the guest apartments on the third floor from the top of the towering castle keep. With a few polite words the Arlessa presented their quarters to them and reminded them that the feast would be in a few hours and that their belongings had already been brought in.

Fixing a polite smile upon her face she thanked the Arlessa who in turn intoned that it was a great honor for her family to host their queen. Once the Arlessa was gone Cecilia let the smile fall from her lips. Once the noblewoman left Morrigan turned on the Queen and said drily, "I still can't believe you made me masquerade as a Sister."

Cocking her eyebrow Cecilia slowly turned and answered equally as dry, "Few people will notice a random Chantry Sister and it is not unheard of for a sovereign to have a member of the clergy in their personal retinue," her lip twitched in a slight smile, but unlike the one she had so recently given the Prince, the Arl and the Arlessa this one was devoid of any warmth and as cold as the Frostback Mountains, "besides having a Sister in my company might convince them of my piety."

The raven haired witch sniffed and crossed her arms. Cecilia glanced back over the room and was thankful there was an armor stand. Piece by piece staring with her gauntlets and vambraces she began to remove the segments of her plate armor. As she did she felt the witch's eyes upon her back. While Cecilia didn't believe Morrigan would dare attack her not after her display in the Wilds; the Queen knew that only a fool ruled out all possibilities.

"You have something to add Morrigan," the Queen questioned as her icy eyes met the witch's magically altered brown ones. After all yellow eyes are something people remember and so they had to disguise what was probably the witch's most memorable feature.

As muscle in Morrigan's cheek twitched, "What use do you still have of me," she questioned shrewdly.

It was a fair question, the Queen admitted. As far as Morrigan knew she had completed her role and was now expendable. In fact to Cecilia's own amusement she had noticed several times since they had left the Urn that Morrigan rarely slept and made carefully watched them all. She had also noticed that the witch had taken to carry one of the long thrusting daggers she had recovered from a decomposed corpse in the burnt out remains of the village of Haven. No doubt she had expected the Queen to try to murder her.

"Have no fear," Cecilia said slowly as she turned her back to the witch and continued taking off her plate armor while all the while carefully listen for any sudden movement or a flare up of magic that would signal an attack, "I still have many uses for you."

"Such as?"

Still not looking at the witch Cecilia placed her breastplate of the stand and answered, "In the days to come I will need a mage to perform certain," she paused looking for the right word before finally deciding on one, "rituals that I know of but cannot perform myself."

"Because you yourself lack magical ability," Morrgin's cold voice replied.

"Magic as you know it… yes I am unable to perform," she confirmed, "and because I chose you because you thirst for knowledge," Cecilia said standing again and glanced over her shoulder, "particularly my knowledge," she went back to sheading her armor, "and I am unwilling to risk going to the Circle or College of Magi to find one."

"I can understand that," Morrigan snorted derisively, "trusting one of the templar's pets would be nearly the same as announcing your attentions to the Knight-Commander himself."

The Queen chuckled at Morrigan's distaste for her fellow mages. Most apostates and College of Magi held the Circle mages in low regards for submitting themselves to the will of the Chantry's Templar Order. Whether that was a fair opinion or not was irrelevant at the moment.

Ever since the rise of the Chantry as an organized religion and as the religion of kingdoms and empires of Thedas mages had been held in bondage by the Chantry and its templars. There were only two exceptions to that rule in the world today. The first was in the Tevinter Imperium, under the 'heretical' Imperial Chantry, were magic had always held powerful sway and Andraste's teaching that 'magic should serve man and never rule over him' never meant the same as it did elsewhere. The second exception was right here in Ferelden though it was nowhere near as serious as it was in Tevinter.

When she was sixteen she had petitioned her father, successfully, for the creation of what would become known as the College of Magi in Denerim where harrowed mages could come to live, study and conduct research of a magical and non-magical nature for the benefit of the crown free of the templar's all persuasive rule. It had been a win-win scenario for both the crown, as it now had hundreds of the best educated and trained minds from all over Thedas in Denerim enriching the city and the kingdom and the mages who got to live in without the templars constantly looking over their shoulder.

While the Grand Cleric and Knight-Commander were vehemently opposed to the idea they were in no position to make demands. Cecilia had timed her request just before the first news of the mage rebellion in Kirkwall had spread. Even though the former Champion and new Viscount, a former Ferelden soldier by the name of Hawke, had savagely crushed the uprising it had sent shock waves throughout Thedas. With fears of possibly of facing another uprising the Grand Cleric had bowed to the King's request. Cecilia though made sure that she received the credit for the establishment of the College and therefore the respect and trust of the mages. Still some mages chose to remain in the Tower at Lake Calenhad despite the chance.

Putting her full concentration back on Morrigan she asked eyebrow cocked, "Was there anything else?"

The Queen carefully studied Morrigan expression and saw that the witch was debating whether or not to back down and take what she had or go for broke. From the way her eyes hardened and her jaw set Cecilia guessed she was going for it.

"I want you to teach me what you did to extinguish my flame back in the Wilds," she said resolutely and as Cecilia opened her mouth to speak she continued, "and do not try to lie to me and tell me it was a templar talent that that fool of a man you call your father taught to you," she said with her eyes blazing and for a second they reverted to their natural sulfurous color, "I know what a templar's magic suppressing abilities feel like and what you did was completely different," for the first time since she started ranted Cecilia thought she heard a slight tremor of fear sneak into her tone, "it was if.. if my magic was gone stolen from me and there was nothing I could do."

Standing up Cecilia once more turned back to face Morrigna clad in her boots and the cotton undergarment she wore beneath the chainmail hauberk and greaves lying on the floor that itself was wore beneath the obsidian colored plate armor she wore.

"I will tell you, but not until we reach Denerim," with a single raised hand and a stern glare she silence Morrigan, "it will take more time than we have now and we need to freshen up before the feast… now go to quarters and we will speak later."

Slowly Morrigan the Witch of the Wilds nodded and spun on her heel out of the room and down the hall. Cecilai stood and watched her go and wondered for the first time if she had made a mistake. After several long seconds of hard thought she finally shrugged and divested herself of the last of her clothing and headed towards the bath. After all if Morrigan became more trouble than she was worth she would simply kill the witch and find another mage.

XXX

In synchronization the Arl's knightly cavalry conducted a parade perfect right flank maneuver followed by three eight by eight man regiments of the Arl's men marching behind them in their splendid and gleaming chain mail and red surcoat emblazoned with the banner of the West Hills.

Standing one of the battlements looking down onto the drill yard Tiberius felt burst of satisfaction tug at his heart. To see such professionalism and precision in these Ferelden knights and men-at-arms displayed and he told the Arl as much.

Fereldens had always been natural warriors; they had been forced to in order survive in the land they called home. But as Julius Aurelius, the great Tevinter general and Consul who wrote the proverbial 'book' of war and led the Imperium to its greats victories, once said, "An army of warriors will always loose to a well-trained army of soldiers," and wily general had proved that fact again and again in his campaigns.

The Tevinter legionaries were not the best of fighters individually and out of ranks. One on one the Tevinter legionaries were hardly a match for anyone, but their great strength laid in their discipline as a unit. In massed ranks with their large rectangular shields and deadly double edged short swords the legions could carve a brutal bloody swathe through anything in front of them.

It had been a lack of discipline that had so hampered the Ferelden armies in the past. And it was that lake of discipline that he and the queen were trying so hard to overcome. Ferelden could… Ferelden would become a world power.

"You have my congratulations my lord," Tiberius finally said with an approving smile in the Arl's direction as he continued to watch the parade ground maneuvers. While most people might think such drills and maneuvers were just intended for parade; Tiberius knew better. These drills served a far more important purpose than amusing the peasantry. On the battlefield knowing these drills could very well mean the difference between victory and defeat.

"I have driven them hard," the Arl replied with pride clear his tone, "and the tax breaks the Queen has presented have been a big help."

The old general nodded once more and again had to give Cecilia the credit. She had come up with the idea to forgive one-half of the required monetary taxes due to the crown, not including grain, fodder and horses, if the individual nobles agreed and at the end of the could prove that they had put the coin into enlarging or improving their military forces.

The breaks had certainly cut down on the revenue flowing into the crown's coffers, but with the increased trade and new trade agreements with Orlais, the Free Marches, Antiva and even as far north Rivian and as far west as Nevarra more coin was flowing to Ferelden ten ever before. Though Ferelden was still far from being an economic powerhouse it was growing steadily enough to become a major contender.

"Her majesty is quite brilliant," Tiberius admitted with a tight smile. Of course Cecilia was brilliant as the avatar of the old god of war she had eons of experience and knowledge greater than any man or woman who walked the surface, or below the surface, of this world.

Once more the old general turned his gaze of the parading soldiers and deep down in his heart of hearts knew that Cecilia would lead his beloved country to the absolute heights of greatness… and he was going to make sure he was there to see it.

Suddenly a nasally voice interrupted her revelry and brought him back to the situation at hand. The servant bowed and hastily reminded the Arl and the general that they had an hour to prepare before supper.

XXX

Antivan Crows were trained in some of their earliest lesson on the proper etiquette for serving members of the nobility. While most different nations had different standards and customs they were all similar to a certain extent. There were minor variations… important variations like in the Free Marches a servant pours drinks from the left side while in Orlais you pour from the right. Fereldens weren't that picky or cultured… yet, but Hector thought, if the construction work going on around Denerim was any indication that might change.

So far everything he heard from the servants and the palace guard had been exceeding positive about their relatively new Queen. How much of that was because of the legacy of her parents or what she was trying to accomplish he didn't know. So far the only interesting facts he had managed to learn was that when she had first began Queen she had given the old Arl of Denerim's fortified estate over to her own personal knights and they had turned it into their headquarters. The abolishment of the position of Arl of Denerim had been considered controversial, but since the previous Arl's line had been wiped out by the 'bastard Howe' it was somewhat of a moot point.

With a sigh of exhaustion that can only come from a hard day's work Hector slipped into the servant's quarters of the palace and after a quick visual scan of the occupants found Raphael and Sophia sitting up against the wall in the back right corner chatting quietly.

Picking up a bowl of soul, a mug of water and a few pieces of bread Hector made his way through the elf and human servants and sat down next to his Antivan comrades, "Have we learned anything new," he asked as he dipped his bread in the soup and took a bite. To his tongue the Ferelden food was bland and lacking in rich spicy taste the most Antivan food was drowned in, but at least it was food.

"Yes," Raphael said with a nod of his head as he pushed a small map forward, "but I manage to map down the patrol routes for three more units of the palace guard but I expect when the Queen gets back everything will tighten up even more."

"So these are useless," Hector said with a longsuffering as he palmed the map and brought it under the table so he could study it without any other servants seeing it.

"Not completely," Sophia responded and there was something in in her tone that made him look up, "we can use them to better understanding of how the man in charge of security thinks."

"Won't that job be taken over by General Tiberius once he arrives," Hector responded as he scooped up another bit of soup with his bread.

"No," Raphael said with some confidence, "Guard Captain Brand will remain in command of the palace guards. Tiberius commands the army and won't interfere unless he feels it absolutely necessary," a small wolfish smile touched the assassin's lips, "the Guard-Captain and the General are already at each other's throats and have commanded to make peace by the Queen."

Hector gave Raphael a stunned look and noticed that Sophia had the same kind look plastered on her face. Before Hector could say anything Sophia voiced her own concern in a hushed whispered tone, "How in Andraste's name did you learn all that?"

Raphael smiled rakishly, "The Queen's maid is quite a lovely little thing… so lonely and innocent… at least before yesterday."

Sophia sneered and Hector smiled weakly. Seduction like so many other arts of their deadly trade were taught to the crows, but of all of them it was the one he enjoyed the least. Well… spiritually and morally at least it was the least enjoyable for him.

But he was smart enough to recognize the incredibly insight that this would give them. As an unwitting source of information the Queen's maid was probably the best they could do in this situation. While the maid wouldn't have access to the nation's secrets she would have knowledge of the Queen and the palace guards' movements and that would suffice.

"Was she at all suspicious," he asked carefully. If the elf maid went to her mistress with this news it could not only ruin their chance at further information but if the Queen was careful or paranoid enough she might have Raphael dismissed from her service or worst interrogated. Raphael like all Crows were trained to resist torture, but all men or women no matter how well trained eventually broke.

Raphael shot him a hurt look before saying, "Of course I was careful. A few choice phrases and she did all the talking…," a slight smile touched his lips, "just like we were trained."

"It was an unnecessary risk," Sophia hissed her eyes flashing in anger, "it could jeopardize our entire mission."

Reaching up onto the table Hector placed his right hand over hers in a calming gesture and said, "Easy Sophia. Raphael knows what he's doing. But," he continued with a pointed look in the other man's direction, "We need to be careful. The master will have our hides if we fail such an important target."

XXX

Despite his expectations the Arl and Arlessa's feast was more enjoyable than he would have thought possible for Ferelden's. He had always viewed them as a dull and uncouth people. And while this 'party' was a far cry from the fancy, lavish things his mother had made a habit of throwing back in Val Royeauex for her friends and guest.

In away the Prince mused, as he saw the normally stoic Baron de Dalacroix with a near empty tankard of ale in his hand and a smile on his face. They were all seated in the castle's great hall at a long rectangular wooden table with steel rimmed sides and into which was carved several reliefs of rearing, running and full armored mabari. At the far end of the table sitting in the high back chair in front of the roaring fireplace sat the Queen of Ferelden who was chatting with the Arlessa who was becoming increasing animated as the conversation went on.

His eyes lingered on the Ferelden Queen. Unlike the Arlessa who wore a formal long gown Cecilia wore a shining suit of chain with a black surcoat that was emblazoned with a red dragon. However like the armor he had first seen her in this too hung to her in just the right ways.

He was too far away to hear what was they were saying but from the brief flashes of annoyance that crossed her face he could that she wasn't very interested in the what the noblewoman had to say. He chuckled softly as he took a sip of the malt beer before him.

Again it was something he found surprising about his jaunt to Ferelden. Before coming here he'd never drunken anything expect different kinds of Orlesian and Tevinter wines and the occasional Antivian brandy. He'd always considered beer as a drink for the peasantry, but he was rapidly reconsidering that opinion. These people were rubbing off on him.

There was some more feasting and rather interesting conversation with the 'bastard' Tiberius about the ongoing Tevinter war with the Imperium. Charles had served as an observer for his Mother during one of the recent skirmishes on the island of Seheron. While deemed 'heretical' by the mainstream Chantry and the Divine the Imperium was still the only shield that stood between the Qunari and the rest of Thedas and therefore it stood as useful to make sure the Magisters were still there to resist the grey skinned giants.

He shivered as he thought about the Maker-forsaken island. Seheron was a large island north of the Imperium and they and the Qunari and been locked in a bitter struggle over ownership ever since the Quanri invaded from Par Vollen. The large central plains of Seheron were a variable boneyard of hundreds of battles, some large and others small. The battles and skirmishes fought there were horrendous in scope, size and feroicity. When the armies of the Imperium and the Qunari clashed no quarter was given on either side.

He spent almost six months watching the legionaries and the mages of the Imperium and the Qunari slaughter one another he called enough enough and took his chevaliers back towards the great fortress city of Londinium on the coast.

The South coast of the island was veritable chain of fortresses and walled towns which were the Imperium's last strongholds on the island and Londinium was the port-Citadel from which the constant stream of legions and supplies entered. It had been an intriguing experience to say the least, but it had taught him a valuable lesson about how the Qunari fought.

After a long animated discussion on Qunari and Tevinter tactics and strategies he noticed that the festivities where winding down and the Queen was preparing to pull away. Excusing himself from the conversation with the 'bastard' Tiberius Charles stood and headed towards the Queen just as she way leaving.

"Your majesty," he said in a cordial tone as he slipped up next to her, "If I may have a brief moment alone to discuss certain manners."

Charles stared into her eyes as he waited for her answer and not for the first time found himself… intrigued… intimidated… concerned… for what he found there. The Queen of Ferelden's gaze reminded him of a falcon that the falconers raised in the palace's citadel tower. Her eyes like their birds always seemed to be watching and evaluating and like them not a single trace of emotion was shown in those icy blue orbs.

"Of course my prince," she said with a smile that to most people would have been disarming, but he was still memorized by those enchanting eyes, "shall we retire to the Arl's study. I'm sure he would not mind."

It was only after several long seconds that Charles found the strength to pull himself away from her hypnotic gaze, "Yes," he coughed attempting to regain some semblance of proper decorum. To that extend he bowed slightly at the waist and offered, "Allow me to lead her majesty. The Arl Chester was generous enough to show me the way."

"Lead the way your highness," she responded in a courteous and polite manner.

And that he did. They walked down the halls of the great castle in silence that was only interrupted n\by the salutes and salutations of the castle's staff and guards. As they walked Charles took the sime to covertly, or at least attempt covertly, to study the young woman next to him.

The Queen processed a beauty far beyond that of most nobility and moved with such a grace that she reminded him of the panther creatures he had seen stalking the jungle of Seheron. His Tevinter guides had told him in great detail of the creatures' hunting prowess and the in those jungles on should never be alone lest they leapt down from the trees and sink their jaws into your neck. He had taken the warning to heart, but now wondered if he was heading off with a far more dangerous creature than any who stalked the jungles.

As they arrived at the unassuming entrance to the Arl's study he reached out, wrapped his hand around the handle and gave a hearty push forward. With only a little effort the oak door slip inward on it's hinges revealing the interior of the study. Despite the rather boorish nature of the Arl himself Charles had been impressed with the magnitude of books and treaties in the Arl's possession. It was clearly not as advanced as his own or no doubt the Queen's it was a surprising fact that Arl Chester was far more than he presented.

Before he could say anything the Queen stalked across the room, again with that unnatural grace if hers, and claimed the room's plushest chair for herself. After she made herself confortable he once more found himself staring into the bottomless ice blue yes, "Your Majesty," he started.

With a swift waved of her bare right hand she cut him off, "Cecilia," she corrected, "you may call me Cecilia when we're in private."

"Cecilia then," he repeated with a guarded smile. Slowly with deliberate motions Charles took a seat across from his bride-to-be. Leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees the Prince of Orlais asked the one question that had been on his mind since he first heard of Cecilia and his mother's plan for them to wed. The prince took a deep breath and questioned, "What use will you have of me?"

The Queen's lips twitched in amusement and Charles frowned as he replayed the conversation in his mind. He huffed in a brief burst of laughter when he realized that what he said could have been construed in a manner that he hadn't intended.

Before he could clarify the Queen made a cutting gesture with her right hand, "I know what you mean… Charles," she said accenting his name. Leaning forward herself she answered, "In the long term as my Prince Consort your use will be to provide me with a heir," she paused and sat back up in the chair, "and of course to ensure peace with Orlais."

The Prince felt his lip twitch, "But what will I do in the short term," he clarified, "I've been a soldier all my life…"

"And you wish to continue being one," Cecilia interrupted finishing his sentence and nodding with symphony, "understandable and given everything I've heard about your military skillset, perfectly reasonable. With your experience I'd be only too happy to keep you on my staff and I'm sure Tiberius will be happy to have you help train the Royal Army," her lips pulled in a tight smirk, "they're good now, but they could always be better."

Charles felt his eyebrow hitch and smirked himself as he thought of the look on the face of the bastard when Tiberius heard that he'd be working with an Orlesian prince to strengthen the Ferelden Royal Army. He felt a brief twinge of guilt when he realized that Cecilia wanted him to teach Orlesian military tactics to her own forces… but after all his mother had told him to 'do want needed to be done' to secure the alliance.

"That will be most appreciated," he said with a slight inclination of his head, "it will be nice to know I won't spend my waning years getting fat on my arse. You won't be disappointed"

"Indeed," the Queen of Ferelden said impassively as she stood and headed towards the door. As she reached out and placed her hand of the steel handle she turned back, "I look forward to testing your skills at the tourney."

"Trust me," Charles answered pouring conviction into those two little words. He bit down a brief flash of annoyance at her challenge. He was one of if not the finest swordsmen in the in the _de Gendarmerie de l'Impératrice,_ the Chevaliers and of all the nobles of Orlais. He had been classically trained by the finest swordmasters in Thedas, was granted command of the armies of Orlais at twenty and had faced down the horrors of Seheron; he could certainly handle himself with a blade, "I'll give you quite a show."

Once more the Queen paused to look back at him, "I would get some rest if I were you my prince. We set off at first light on the morrow and ride hard for Denerim."

XXX

Hands clasped tightly behind his back Ser Markus Tiberius the General of the armies of Ferelden walked on the outer battlements of the castle enjoying the fresh mountain air and a pleasant conversation with the dwarf Dakrak.

They were an odd pair, the tall bearded Ferelden general with a fine steel longsword sheathed at his side and the short stocky clean shaven dwarf with a large broad-axe strapped to his back. Despite his initial doubts about the dwarf in the beginning Tiberius had come to realized over the years that the young dwarf was loyal to a fault and perhaps the best bodyguard the Queen could ask for. In the years since the dwarf had come into Cecilia's service he and Dakrak had been friends of a sort.

"So," Tiberius asked glancing down at Dakrak, "Are you going to fight in the tourney this year. "The dwarf had fought in the event the last time it had occurred and placed fairly high in the standings but had sworn afterwards that he wouldn't do it again. He said it was too much like Provings fought in Orzammar and it only served to remind him of the caste systems of his homeland.

"No," the dwarf answered succinctly before turning with a raised eyebrow, "what about you general? I haven't heard anything about you entering the competition."

The general let out a chuckle and shook his head, "No the tourney competitions are for the young intent on proving their skills and those who feel their ego's need to be stroked. I am neither," Tiberius gave a small self-deprecating smile, "I'm too old to be concerned by those things anymore."

"And yet the Queen participates," came the dwarf's loaded reply.

Tiberius paused and threw Dakrak and calculating look. From anyone else he would have been wary of a trap with such a loaded question, but he knew that the dwarf was simply asking an honest question. After a second to collect his thought he answered, "It's required of her to showcase her martial skills that the people expect her to have."

The dwarf just hummed and the pair step apart as a patrol passed in-between them. When the patrol finally passed through and continued on their assigned route. With a quick glance to make sure the guards were out of earshot Dakrak turned and asked the single question that had been on Tiberius's mind.

"What about Morrigan? I don't trust her."

"Neither do I," Tiberius intoned darkly, "though keep your axe sharp just for when the witch outlives her usefulness." He didn't trust the witch one bit and had repeatedly told the queen as much. Cecilia had convinced him that for the foreseeable future Morrigan was necessary for the plan. Again he wasn't sure what the plan in its entirety was, but it was the Queens prerogative to withhold information if she so desired.

"My axe is always sharp general," the dwarf responded with a smile in his tone as he pulled the axe from his back and ran his thumb down the sharpened edge, "I'll be waiting for the order."

They both fell silent as they continued their walk around the battlements and past another patrolling squad of armored men. The cool night was quiet and empty with only the occasional crackle of flame from the braziers and the shuffle of armored men to interrupt the stillness.

They walked like that for some time; occasionally stopping to stare out into the darkness away from the battlements and to discuss the security arrangements for their trip back to Denerim. Once that was finished Tiberius wished the dwarf a pleasant night and turned to head back down the spiraling stairs of the nearest tower.

With each step he took he felt his joints creak and cursed the ravages of age. Despite his years he knew he was still a formidable mountain of a man… especially in his armor. However he could feel in his bones that his fighting years where rapidly approaching their end and then what was left for him after that? Would he be forced spent the rest of his years on his ancestral estate watching the crops grow while sending others off to fight his battles?

No, he thought resolutely. He wouldn't become some old and infirm thing. That he swore to himself and whatever God or gods may have been listening. If this upcoming campaign was to be his last he would make sure that it would be one too remembered. In his heart he knew that Cecilia's name was going to go down in the annuals of history and he was going to damn well make sure his name was there as more than a mere foot note.

XXX

Cecilia emerged from the bathroom of the plush chambers the Arl and Arlessa had presented to her for her brief stay at Castle West Hill. Dressed in fine furs she walked slowly from the doorway of the bathhouse to the silk and satin bed and approaching the edge she let the wolf skin garment slide from her form.

She had told Prince Charles to get some rest and now it was time to listen to her own advice. Sinking into the bed she wrapped the silk sheets around herself she curled into the goose feather stuffed bed and let the sweet embrace of sleep envelop her.

_Almost as soon as her eyes closed they opened again. Cecilia slowly sat up and in a smooth quick movement swung her bare legs over the edge of the bed and stood. The Queen spared a quick glance down at her naked form, but with a brief burst of will she was suddenly dressed in a comfortable tunic and breeches._

_Cecilia spared a look skywards as she did every time and saw the now familiar site of the black city orbiting overhead. She wasn't sure how others saw the former golden city but from where she stood the city nearly filled the entire sky. Even in ruin and decay it was still a marvel to behold._

_Tearing her gaze she appraised the familiar stone temple that she now stood inside. The building was massive, at least forty yards in diameters and nearly again as high. The base of the structure was supported by twenty elaborately carved columns arranged in a circular pattern. The roof of the temple was domed rotunda with a circular skylight which on days when the sun shone bright would allow dazzling stream of light to fall upon the dark marble statue of Argon the Old God of War._

_The statue was at the very heart of his temple and in elder days would have been packed full of worshipers all praying and presenting offerings for good fortune in battle for themselves or their loved ones. Given the importance of the legions to the expansion, prosperity and survival of the Imperium the lord of war was one of the most worshiped of his brethren. As befitting his status amongst the pantheon of the Old Gods his temple and priests had been amongst the wealthiest of the clergy and his temple reflected that fact. _

_Of course the real temple in Minrathous was long gone destroyed by angry mobs after the corruption of Dumat, the greatest and chief of the Old Gods, and the subsequent horrors of what would be known as the First Blight. The once magnificent structure had been first scavenged for stone to repair the damaged walls of the city after repeated attacks by darkspawn and secondly decades later the remains had been destroyed by zealots on the orders of the cult of Andraste. Now, seemingly as an insult added to injury, the spot on which the war god's temple had sat was a public restroom._

_Cecilia halted in front of what in the real temple would have been the statue of Argon, but here in the Fade was the old god in the flesh… or at least the mind. Ironically nether she or the dragon had been able to figure out whether he was the old god residing in some corner of her mind which visited her in her dreams or simply an amalgamation of its memories meant to personify the immense knowledge that had yet to unspool in her mind._

_Nearly every night since Cecilia had learned to speak, which had been remarkably earlier than most children, she had visited this place in her dreams. The magnificent creature she stood before had spoken to her, had taught her things far beyond the mere morsels of knowledge and wisdom her tutors could summon. The dragon god had taught her about war, tactics and strategy. It had regaled her with tales of the greatest generals and conquerors in history._

_Cecilia had watched history's greatest battles unfold as they were replayed in the Fade and got to see firsthand how the battles were won and lost. All the while it had been at her side teaching and instructing. _

_Glancing down at the floor next to her she furrowed her brow and focused her iron will on the marble floor. The first time she had done this it had taken what seemed like hours for any to happen, but now it barely took a second. _

_The marble floor beneath her gaze buckled and four tendrils shot out of the floor rising up like the shoots of a plant. The tendrils rose up eerily from the ground and weaved themselves into an ornate high-back chair. In the Fade everything was a product of will and those with the strength of will could manipulate it like a painter manipulating a brush to turn a blank canvas into art. Maneuvering to the front of the chair she took her seat._

_The old god shifted its bulk and in an almost lazy manner reached out with its wickedly clawed right forelimb and tapped the marble in front of her. Like with the chair the ground rippled and a single tendril rose from the ground and the top of it flattened out into a checkered board. From the board rose thirty-two little figures, sixteen on each side of the board._

_Reaching out Cecilia plucked a piece from the board and examined it. The Queen nearly chuckled as she recognized the face on the figure as her own. Replacing the piece on the table and examined the others and found with some amusement that she recognized all the faces. One was Tiberius; another was Dakrak, Morrigan and others she knew. _

_The figures on Argon's side of the field were different from hers. She recognized all his figures as well but not from her memories but his. The figures were modeled after ancient Tevinter magisters, generals and nobles who had all log since died. _

"_You may have the opening," a voice like the crackle of thunder sounded as the dragon gestured with its forelimb. _

_Cecilia studied the board. The game they were playing was an old one called Kings. Despite being a very old game it was still very popular in Tevinter as well as amongst the elites in Orlais and had spread from there to the Free Marches, Antiva, Anderfels, Nevarra and eventually Ferelden. The game had never been as popular in Ferelden as elsewhere in Thedas because of its connotation with Orlais._

_Finally making a decision she issued a quick mental command and focused her will on one of the pieces which was in the shape of a Ferelden man-at-arms. The pawn stood from its crouched position and marched forward on the board with its shield and spear held ready._

_One of the pieces from the dragon's side moved forward followed by another one of hers. The game dragged on as the two miniature armies made savage war upon each other at their respective masters' request. No matter how many times they had played Cecilia still found the sight of one of the figures destroying another in a flash of steel and splatter of blood. _

_Reaching out she snatched one of the 'killed' pawns from the board and studied its faceless helm. In way these figures were more than mere pieces in a game. It was in a way symbolic of her plans… that everyone was mere pieces on a board to be manipulated towards the ultimate goal… victory._

"_Checkmate," she finally intoned dryly with a bored expression on her face. This was getting far too easy of late._

_Smoke and burst of fire flared from the spectral dragon's nostrils and with a backhanded motion of its right forelimb it swept through the board and table upon which it sat causing said board and table to dissolve into thin air._

"_I concede," the dragon rumbled, "I have nothing left to teach you and yet you still come," it finished in the form of a question._

_Cecilia considered his words and had to agree. She had learned everything the dragon could offer some time ago, yet she still came here almost on a nightly basics. She gave it some more thought before answering, "Maybe I like the company and a good game of Kings."_

_Silence reigned for a few moments before the dragon spoke, "So far everything has gone according to your plan, but you must be wary for no plan long survives contact with the enemy. For the sake of our brothers and our vengeance you must succeed. If you falter here..."_

"_Have no fear," Cecilia interrupted her voice as hard as diamonds and as cold as the tips of the Frostback mountains, "my enemies will fall before me and everyone will know my wrath. Things are already in motion and I will not be stopped now."_


	4. Chapter 3

**The Dragon Queen: Beginnings **

Chapter 3: The Grand Tourney

"Get up you lazy bastards," the shrill voice of the steward responsible for the day to day running of the palace penetrated Hector's sleep.

In less than a heartbeat the Antivian Crow was awake and alert. It took him another few heartbeats to realize where he was and to remember his cover. Calming down from his adrenaline fuelled burst of awareness he slid his legs over the side of his small bed, cracked open his footlocker and to threw on his serving man's tunic, breeches and rough fur lined Ferelden style boots.

"What's going on," one of the elven servants said groggily.

"The Queen and party have returned… with guests," the steward exhaled impatiently, "they're passing through the northern gate now," the steward pointed out a dozen men to come with him including Hector.

Unfortunately for the assassin his partner and brother Crow Raphael was not selected and was forced to remain behind as the steward led them through the corridors of the palace. The young Crow also took notice that of the three female servants that joined their little party Sophia was not among them. He frowned he would have preferred that the other Crows were with him for their first sighting, but he could go on without them if he needed to.

It took the gaggle of servants almost ten minutes to make their preparations and reach the front gate of the palace. Hector stood with the other servants, the guard captain and a few of his men-at-arms in the cool and rather foggy pre-dawn air of the capital city waiting for the Queen and her party's arrival.

Slowly the faint but unmistakable sound of hooves on the cobblestone grew in the distance. Then like ghosts the riders began to appear through fog. The most recognizable at first was General Tiberius in is great horned helm. Hector watched with interest as the Queen herself in her unmistakable obsidian colored armor was the next visible through the fog followed by her dwarven and knightly bodyguard.

Hector frowned however as one of the members of the Queen's party was a Chantry sister. He thought back over the conversation and gossip he'd heard from the other servants and nothing had mentioned a Chantry sister in her party.

The next group through were Orlesians, the Crow would have known that even without the forewarning that they were coming. The armor of the chevaliers were not easy to miss and the more gaudy the armor the higher ranking the nobleman.

The final group was led by another Ferelden nobleman that he did not recognize, not that he knew many by sight to begin with. Hector noticed that the noble had brought both his wife along with him and a fair number of knights. Which made sense considering the start of the Ferelden tourney was just days away. In fact the city was crawling with Ferelden nobility all waiting for the beginning of the tourney.

The steward bowed low at the waist, "Your majesty I welcome you back to Denerim. I hope your trip has been productive."

"Very," the Queen intoned cryptically with a nod of her head. With a flourish the Ferelden Queen dismounted her horse with the rest of her knights and the others following suit. The Queen held out the reins of her horse and it took a few seconds for Hector to realize what she wanted.

The young assassin moved forward and, with what he deemed was the proper amount of hesitancy for a servant coming face to face with their sovereign, took the reins and slowly began to led the warhorse away from its mistress.

"Make sure the stable master gives the horses a good scrubbing and make sure they're all well fed," the Queen ordered as more servants came to take the other horses.

"Yes your majesty," Hector said careful to keep any trace of an Antivian accent from his tone as he patted the warhorse on the side, "what's his name."

The Queen who was in the process of removing her helmet stopped and turned back to face him with a rather peculiar look on her face. Hector's breath froze in his lungs as he wondered if he had made some kind of mistake. Perhaps the horse's name was well known and it was expected that everyone should know it…

However his fears were alleviated when she answered rather simply, "I don't know."

Hector felt his fear shift to confusion at her words… how could she not know the name of her own horse? Fortunately the Crow didn't have to wait long for an answer as she continued, "All creatures have names… boy… he simply has declined to tell me."

The Antivian Crow studied the monarch's face trying to decide whether she was playing with him or if she was actually serious. Before he could get a good reading however it accrued to him that he had already drawn enough attention to himself for one night. With a bow he tugged on the reins of the Queen's mount, eager to escape her presence.

XXX

Cecilia watched as the servant led her steed away with the slightest hint of a frown marring her near perfect features. She didn't recognize the servant's face, but that in itself didn't mean anything. She wouldn't even claim to know the all the servants in the palace by name or face. The sun touched look of skin meant he could have been from the Ferelden held Alamar Islands or the Brandel's Reach Islands.

It was also possible he was from the Free March city of Ostwick which had fallen under Ferelden jurisdiction ever since a group of their nobles had requested her father's assistance in solving a succession crisis before it broke out into civil war. Her father, King Alistair, had entrusted her to take care of it as his Calling had been rapidly approaching. With hesitation she had assembled the royal army sailed across the Waking Sea in support of her allies.

In a single bloody battle she defeated her opponents in what was her first large scale engagement and went a long way to earning the respect of the Ferelden nobility. The end result of the battle was the installation of a Marquis in Ostwick who was dependent on her to maintain his own power and perhaps most importantly gave Cecilia access to a key trading port along the rich Waking Sea trade routes.

As the man disappeared around the corner Cecilia mentally noted to have someone watch the servant from now on and take notice of who he associated with. Forcing a smile to her lips she turned back to where the steward waited and said, "Please arrange for chambers for our guests."

The steward nodded, "Of course your majesty. I'll have suitable chambers arranged for them," he paused before continuing, "Is there anything else your majesty?"

Cecilia took a moment before throwing a glance at Prince Charles. Another slight smile touched her lips and she said without looking back at the steward, "Also deposit the entry fee for the tourney in Prince Charles's name."

From behind her she heard the Prince say, "That is not necessary," he paused and gave her a warm smile, "I brought ample coin with me from Val Royeaux."

Cecilia returned the Prince's smile, "Consider it a gift," she responded leaving unsaid what occasion her gift was for. However from the gleam in the Prince's eyes she guessed that he had already figured it out.

"Very well I will try not to disappoint," the Prince intoned with a slight inclination of his head in a cocky, roguish tone.

"I should hope not," Cecilia answered with a raised eyebrow. She had heard much about the Prince's skill as a knight and was looking forward to putting those martial skills to the test. Shifting her gaze back to the steward she once more said, "Please make sure everyone is quartered properly… the east wing I believe is unoccupied."

The steward nodded quickly, "Of course. If you will please follow me my lords and ladies," the man said to the assembled nobles and set aside to allow them entrance into the palace. As the Arl and his retinue and the Prince's and his entered the palace Cecilia stayed back as her maid, Anna, slipped up beside her.

"I hope your trip was productive," the maid said with a smile.

"It was indeed," the Queen answered with any elaboration and not in the mood for small talk she added, "Do you have what I asked you for?"

"Yes, of course," the servant answered hurriedly and produced a small leather bound writing pad, "The list of all the entries in the tourney." Cecilia reached out and took the parchment, undid the bindings, "Everything you asked for is in there your majesty I made sure."

"You did well," Cecilia said approvingly as she flipped through the pages. Within the pad were contained more than a hundred names, some of which she recognized, as well as were the contestants were from, who their patrons were and any other available information.

The servant girl curtsied, "Your Majesty is most kind."

Pocketing the pad for further study Cecilia dismissed the servant girl with orders to make ready her sleeping chambers. In the same breath she turned to her trio of knights, praised them for their good work and dismissed them back to their barracks.

"Morrigan," the Queen addressed the Witch of the Wilds, "I want you to go with them… for now I need you out of sight until I have need of you."

The witch crossed her arms in a defiant gesture, "I what am I to do in the meantime?" she questioned in a harsh manner, "Wait like one of your sycophants until you call for me?"

"I have neither the time nor the patience witch," Cecilia hissed icily taking a threating step towards the apostate, "for the moment I need you out of the way of prying eyes."

The Queen took a deep breath despite whatever her personal feeling for the witch was she was useful. While Cecilia knew she could always seek for another apostate she doubted that she could find one as open minded or powerful, but it always could be done if need be.

"I have your mother's Grimoire," she finally said and was rewarded with the satisfaction of seeing the witch's eye's go wide in shock, "It waiting for you in the estate."

"How?," Morrigan started and suddenly her eyes narrowed, "That bitch… she lied to me! She told me she didn't find anything!"

"Yes," Cecilia admitted with a satisfied smirk, "My mother didn't trust you with its secrets, but I am willing to give it to you knowing that it cannot be used against me."

"You read it!," she accused .

"Of course," Cecilia stated as if it was the most obvious thing in Thedas, "I wasn't going to give you anything you could turn against me. In addition there are several other tomes I'd like you to study. Ser Raymond will point them out for you."

The Queen could tell from the look on the witch's face that she was torn between her lust for knowledge of the arcane and her desire for freedom. In the end however it appeared that her lust won out. "Very well," she consented but just barley, "I'll go with them."

Cecilia made like she was about to turn her back, but instead whipped around, spinning on her heel, and struck Morrigan hard across the face. The witch gave a high pitched shout of pain and fell to the ground clutching face. Before Morrigan could react Cecilia lunged forward and planted the tip of her boot and the witched neck.

"If I even feel the slightest hint of you drawing on your magic I will kill you," Cecilia promised darkly and the witch stilled in response while glaring up at the Queen with rage filled eyes.

"Bitch," Morrigan spat blood in addition to words.

"Listen to me Morrigan and listen carefully for I shant repeat myself. For good or Ill I need a mage of some power and I have chosen you, but," Cecilia heavily empathized the preposition, "you are not indispensible to me. I have offered you knowledge beyond your wildest dreams and yet still you fight me and as I said before I grow tired of it."

Removing her boot from Morrigan's throat she gestured and Raymond and Edward roughly hauled the witch to her feet. The witch spat again and was rewarded by a swift jab to the ribs by Ser Edward.

From its sheath of her belt Cecilia drew a long knife and rested the tip against Morrigan's jugular. "For every act of insolence there must be punishment," her eyes flicked to her Ser Robert, "Cover her mouth."

The knight did so without hesitation and Cecilia reached out with her free hand and tore at the witch's chantry robes to expose her smooth stomach. With deft movements the Queen cut several swallow wound in the pattern of a demonic rune, pressed her free hand against and muttered a phrase in an ancient tongue.

The wound glowed red hot and Morrigan screamed beneath her gag, but as quick as the glowing appeared it vanished leaving the rune seared into her flesh. "Release her," Cecilia commanded and the knights obeyed.

"What… did… you… do… to… me," Morrigan panted through pain and tears as she clutched her stomach from her position on the ground at the Queen's feet.

"It's similar to the process the Chantry uses to make a mage tranquil," Cecilia said watching the growing horror on the mage's face as she suddenly realized she couldn't call upon her magic. "But have no fear the rune will fade within a few days and you will be back to normal… so consider this a warning."

"You… you need me," Morrigan groaned she struggled to her feat pinning the Queen with a hateful glare. "You said so!"

"I said I need a mage or perhaps more precisely a vessel capable of doing magic," Cecilia clarified darkly. "And while, yes, it would be easier with a willing vessel there are ways… dark ways I can take control of your body to perform the necessary. It would be neither easy nor quick but possible," she added her voice dropping several more degrees, "And would not end well for you."

She glanced up at Raymond and the dwarf, "Take her away. Dakrak you go with her," she ordered.

"As you command," they responded in unison.

Cecilia watched as the witch in the sister's robes was drug off by her knight's and her foresworn dwarf warrior. Once they were out of earshot she turned back to face Tiberius who had a bemused look upon his normally stony face.

"What?" she hissed.

"Was that absolutely necessary?" he said with a shrug of his shoulders. "My mother always taught me never to anger a witch."

"She's temperamental, stubborn, impulsive and fiercely independent," Cecilia stated listing qualities in the witch that if she was honest she also shared. "Once broken of those qualities she'll make a fine tool."

"Or," the old General voiced the unanswered conjunction.

An evil smile slid across her face, "Or I'll kill her mind and use her corpse like a puppet."

XXX

Prince Charles of Orlais, the second son of her Imperial Majesty Celene I the Empress of the Orlesian Empire was impressed with the security arrangements in the Ferelden Royal Palace and Cecilia's palace guard. Checkpoints dotted the corridors and all the obvious, and not so obvious, chokepoints had regular patrols of guards. This place was built like a fortress and was defended like one as well.

"And I hope these chambers are to your liking Prince Charles," the Queen's steward asked as he strode through the plush and extravagant quarters that had been decorated in an Orlesian style.

Charles glanced about the quarters he had been given and smiled; she must have this planned for some time. From the walls hung large banners bearing the _fleur-de-lis_, broadswords crossed in an X pattern behind kite shields and a massive four-post hardwood bed that was covered in shimmering silk. It seemed that the Queen was going out of her way to recreate the guest apartments of the Palace in Val Royeaux.

As he studied the layout of the initial chamber and it adjoining rooms he felt his smile slip. In fact this looked too much like his own quarters for his liking. Despite Charles preference for the battlefield he was not unlearned in the matters of spycraft. He was well aware that agents of all nations spied upon each other, but he had always counted Orlais's amongst the best; only second to the Crows of Antivia.

The thought that foreign agents could pierce the security arrangements of the palace, arrangements that he personally had overseen was a troubling one. The fact that they were Ferelden operatives, over whom he had always believed his countrymen had the advantage, just added salt to the open wound.

Replacing the polite smile on his face he turned to face the steward, "This will be fine… please inform your Queen this is much appreciated."

The steward bowed and made to leave to show the baron his own chambers. As the baron left, Charles got the briefest look from the man that told him the décor of the chambers hadn't escaped his notice. Charles briefly shook his head; the Baron was a brave, loyal and intelligent member of his retinue and would be missed when he was ordered back to Orlais after the tourney.

The Prince took a few minutes to poke around and explore the chambers he had gifted. After those few minutes Charles settled into the task of removing the heavy plates of his armor and placing them on the stand.

He had just finished with the upper plates of his armor and began on the leather straps of his belt, when a solid knock sounded at his door. He paused and his brows furrowed as he considered who might be at the door.

Out of instinct Charles checked to make sure he knew where his sword was before heading towards the heavy wooden, steel reinforced door. Though he doubted that anyone would so foolish as bother him in the heart of the Queen of Ferelden's domain. That said many a king, queen, prince and princess had been murdered because they had let down their guard when they had thought they were safe. In Orlais that was a lesson all nobles learn early in life or they didn't live very long.

Reaching out he wrapped his fingers around the handle of the door and pulled slightly. "Your majesty," he intoned with some surprise. He hadn't expected her to make a personal visit quite so soon after he had moved. "It's a pleasure to see you again."

"I'm sure it his," the she said politely. The Ferelden Queen was still wearing her armor and Charles somehow doubted that she ever felt comfortable out of it… which from what he had seen of her so far was a shame.

"Prince Charles-," she began

"Call me Charles… please your majesty," he interrupted, "after all we are to be wed."

After a second she nodded, a slight inclination of her head, "Then you shall call me Cecilia," she responded as she glanced about the room. "I hope you like the arrangements. I had them selected personally."

Charles made a show of glancing around the room, "It reminds me of home," he intoned leaving out that was no doubt in his mind of the specific purpose of said room.

"I'm glad you're comfortable," she said before adding, "The first match is tomorrow morning. I would like you present for the opening ceremony."

"Of course," he responded as if he had a choice. You don't refuse sovereign of the country in which you are staying; or rather you don't and expect to stay in their good graces. Given that said sovereign was going to be his wife and he her Prince Consort only made it more important he not anger her.

Once more the political skills he had learned in Val Royeaux came into play and once more he found himself despising it. He still considered himself a warrior and was a warrior at heart. He still longed for the thrill and sting of battle.

As if reading his mind Cecilia shattered his thoughts by closing the distancing between them and caressing his cheek in the first sensual move he'd seen from her. "I look forward to seeing you in your natural environment Charles. A man such as yourself should not be kept from battle for long."

Charles clenched his jaw as the warm flesh of the Queen's… Cecilia's hand stroked his cheek sending jolts of lightening through his entire body. Clearing his throat he coughed, "Yes… I'm looking forward to fighting in the tourney." Reaching up he took her hand in his and moved it from his face and separated from contact.

"Good," Cecilia whispered giving him a saucy grin as she too stepped away, "then I look forward to meeting you on the field."

And with that she left leaving him in her wake. Charles fumbled about before falling back in a chair in confusion and frustration. He'd been with women before, many women in fact, but never before had one affect him so.

"Damn," he swore and grabbed at a nearby bottle of wine. This was going to be an interesting few days and an interesting life.

XXX

"Ladies and gentleman, my fellow nobles and commoners I would like to welcome to the Grand Tourney of Ferelden," Teyrn Fergus Cousland spoke from the royal's box overlooking the sandy arena to the assembled crowd who had gathered for the event.

Behind him her high back wooden chair in a purely ceremonially golden suit of armor Cecilia listened with carefully concealed boredom as her uncle droned on. She had named him as Master of Ceremonies as he was the highest ranking nobleman in Ferelden, other than herself of course.

Her mother's brother ruled over the wealthy trade and port city of Highever to the far north of the country on the coast of the Waking Sea. While blood went a long way it was also advantageous to keep herself in good relations with her uncle of the sake of unity. Her uncle in also commanded the largest army next to her own and was the most influential noble next to herself.

With territory and cities of Gwaren under the crown's rule, confiscated after its late Teyrn Loghain's traitorous actions during the Fifth Blight, it brought nearly all the power and influence in Ferelden directly under her or her family's control. It was a particularly un-Ferelden like thing for one person to have so much power, but most of the nobles and people were just grateful for stability.

"And without further ado," her uncle's strong voice cut through the air and her thoughts, "allow me to introduce the first of our noble combatants."

The Teryn gestured to the two combatants, the first of which who was a tall black haired man who bowed promptly as he was introduced as Ser Ryne from Oswin. The second warrior was a fair haired woman named Ser Ellen from South Reach. Both knights bowed low as they were introduced to the roar of the crowd who was seemingly as eager for this to start as the combatants.

"Allow me to reiterate," the Teyrn bellowed while gesturing with his hands, with only marginal success, for the crowd to quiet, "This is not a competition to the death. You are expected," and in this case 'expected' meant demanded, "to show the restraint befitting your station and observe the tenants of knightly honor."

With that said the Teyrn raised his right arm high and the knights lowered their visors and assumed a fighting stance. With a quick motion he snapped his arm down and the knights began their deadly dance of combat.

With little fuss for a man his age Teyrn Cousland sat himself in the chair at Cecilia's left hand. "It looks to be a fine festival your majesty… though I wouldn't worry. None I've seen on the practice fields come close to your skill with a blade."

"You flatter me uncle," she said faking humility without her eyes ever leaving the knightly combatants as they struck, riposted and parried each other's blows. Wither her keen eyes she evaluated them as average warriors, neither dreadful, but not particularly exceptional she thought as she noticed several openings that the warriors themselves had failed to take advantage of.

"Do you yet know whom you fight?," Cecilia heard a voice that she recognized as belonging to her General Tiberius. She glanced to the left to see him speaking to Charles who was situated on her left in what was ironically Tiberius's normal seat.

"Yes I do," the Prince answered in a civil tone but underneath it Cecilia could detect a level of restlessness. "My opponent's a Tevinter Legionary officer named Lucius Castus."

"What's a Tevinter doing in Ferelden?" Tiberius asked sound interested and a little upset that he didn't already know.

"He arrived with a merchant of some repute named …"

"Pilus," Cecilia interrupted to the men's surprise, still not having lifted her eyes from the spectacle as the crowd roared when Ser Ellen knocked Ser Ryne to the ground with a mighty blow from her shield. The crowd waited in hushed anticipation for Ser Rune to rise and continue the fight, but the knight from Oswin raised his left arm and held up the first two fingers on his right hand in a sign of surrender.

As the crowd cheered or booed depending on their bets and Fergus Cousland rose to congratulate the winner and present the next pair of combatants Cecilia turned to face her intended and her general."His name is Flavious Pilus," she explained, "he's a very wealthy merchant from Minrathous who's brother is a senator."

"That explains why he can use legionaries as his guards instead of hiring sell-swords like the rest," Tiberius deducted drily.

"Indeed and if my memory serves me Lucius Castus is his cousin and a military Tribune of the equestrian order," Cecilia informed her guests. "And according to Pilus he's one of the finest young officers in the legions."

Charles shifted in his seat and asked, "I didn't realize that Ferelden had much trade with the Imperium?"

"We don't get much," Cecilia admitted, "most of it comes through Ostwick in the north; though we've had much more in recent years than in the past. Perhaps you'll meet them tonight at dinner."

Perhaps I will."

XXX

With a plate full of hot, steaming roast duck Hector the Antivian Crow posing as a serving man walked into the Great Hall of the Fereldan Royal Palace. The hall was crammed full of Ferelden nobles and the combatants who would or had taken place in the tourney.

The hall was organized with three long tables organized horizontally to another with the center table, the Queen's table, was pulled out in front of the other in a symbolical gesture to show she ruled or had authority over everyone in the Great Hall.

Careful to observe all the proper etiquette for a servant in his position he placed the platter in the end of the table nearest the Queen, the Orlesian Prince, the Teyrn and the general. They didn't acknowledge him as they continued their animated discussion, not that he expected them to. Hector tried to covertly listen in on their conversation as he collected the used plates.

It was one of the oldest tricks in the spy-trade. Most nobles tended to see servants as little more and moving furniture and therefore most thought nothing about speaking freely in front of them. Of course, Hector doubted she'd say anything in front of an Orlesian Prince, but he might find out why the Orlesian was here.

The Crows had known that Prince Charles of Orlais was coming to Denerim as the personal guest of Queen Cecilia, but the Crows, both in Val Royeaux and Denerim, hadn't been able to figure out why. There was plenty of speculation on why he was here' ranging from trade agreements to a military alliance, but nothing was concrete. There had even been the hypothesis that the Prince was here for a marriage arrangement between the Cecilia and Charles.

However that idea had been dismissed almost as soon as it came up. While it was known that the Empress Celene was interested in a union of the empire of Orlais and the kingdom of Ferelden the Crows were confident that she wouldn't expect anything but a full merger. The Empress was growing old and had yet to truly make a lasting mark on the empire and it was believed that she wanted the return Ferelden back into the fold would be her mark upon imperial legacy.

Hector passed back through the free swinging double doors to the main palace kitchen that serviced the great hall. He disposed the dishes in the great big wash tub for the scullery maids to clean before heading over to the edge of the room, out of the way of the cooks and more importantly the chief cook's wrath.

"Raphael," the Crow hissed as he saw one of his partners leaning on the wall with a trouble face. "What has happened?"

Hector could all too well the numerous things that could go wrong that would result in their death and even worse the dishonor of the Antivian Cows. To his relief Raphael shook his head said sounding despondent, "I lost quite a bit of coin on a wager."

Shaking his head he asked somewhat accusingly, "Who'd you bet on?" Raphael amongst his whoremongering and womanizing was known among his brother and sister Crows as quite the gambler. The fact that he was on a job apparently did little to restrain his baser impulses.

"Ah doesn't matter," he said with a wave before leaning in conspiratorially. "Though I have learned something from my saucily little maid."

"And that is?" Hector questioned impatiently.

"Apparently an agent of a very influential nobleman from Kirkwall met with the Queen in-between the last fight and the start of the feast," Raphael said with smugness. "And before you ask I have no idea whose agent it is."

Hector blinked… Kirkwall was amongst the riches and powerful cities in the world, though more in terms of economic power than military. Also despite the fact the viscount of Kirkwall was the Ferelden born Champion named Garret Hawke the kingdom and the city-state didn't have the best relations.

During the preparations for this assignment he had learned that Queen Cecilia had tried to bring Kirkwall under the growing umbrella of Ferelden influence. It had been the Fereldan Queen's only defeat, political or military, to date.

"I think she's after revenge personally," Raphael sniffed, "simple as that."

I don't think she does anything simple." Hector said as he felt a foreboding sense of dread fall over him as if he was stuck in the middle of something he couldn't begin to understand.

XXX

It was a far cry from one of the one of the Orlesian masquerade balls he attended back in Vax Royeaux, but it was nice and at least here didn't have to keep an eye out for bards and assassins. In Orlais one of these balls was, in a way, more dangerous than the myriad of battlefields he had fought on.

He watched as the Ferelden nobles, male and female, chatted and laughed amongst themselves while the orchestra, no doubt imported from Ostick judging from their dress, played a number on their instruments. He thought he recognized it as Mozra's number six, but he wasn't quite sure.

Like several other foreigners in the hall he was given a wide birth. It was partly due to him being an Orlesian, but more of it was because as this was only one of the few times in a year that all the noblemen of Ferelden were gathered under a single roof. As such it was an important time for deal making and trade agreements with nobles from the other side of the country.

So he stood sipping on the amber colored brew that he had acquired a taste for during his time in Ferelden. As he stood there he glimpsed the image of Cecilia and her uncle deep in conversation. He smiled as he caught site of her. She was quite beautiful, but it was more than that. She was a skilled warrior, intelligence and there was something else about her he couldn't quite place. He shook his head and took another sip; he'd figure it out later. After all they were going to be spending a lot of time with her when they were married.

"Your highness," a voice sounded from behind him.

Charles turned and saw a man dressed in the ornate armor and scarlet cape of a Tevinter legionary officer. It took the Prince a second to remember the man's name, "Tribune Lucius Castus I believe."

The Tribune thumped his right hand over his chest before extending it in a Tevinter salute, "You do me honor Prince Charles…," his face became thoughtful; "I do not believe we've had the pleasure of meeting before."

"You are correct of course," he acknowledged. "Your name surfaced in a conversation with the Queen and her retinue. She mentioned her dealing with your cousin Flavious Pilus."

"Ahh yes that makes sense," the ruggedly attractive and handsome legionary said with an almost wistful glance in the Queen's direction. "She's quite a woman… what I would give." He trailed off but what he thought was clear enough.

For a second Charles felt a burst of jealously bur forced it down as he reminded himself that he's already won. "I should know we're betrothed after all," he said trying but ultimately failing to keep the smugness he felt from his tone.

The Tribune hissed something in his tongue and then paused and cursed again as she realized that they were going to be fighting one another tomorrow in the tourney.

XXX

Towards the end of the feast General Markus Tiberius slipped away from the palace accompanied by two knights of the Sovereign's Own and headed towards the former Arl of Denerim's fortress estate which had been given to the knightly order to use as their headquarters.

It took the general of the Queen's army a decent amount of time to make to the estate riding at a steady trot on his mount. However it wasn't long before the walls and turrets of the estate became visible. Most in the city still referred to it as the Denerim estate but to the knights who made it their home they had come to refer to it as 'the keep.'

Tiberius rode up to the gate and was briefly challenged by a pair of spear wielding guards, not true knights as it was unseemly for a knight to play at guardsman, but common men-at-arms sworn to the Queen's service. While the knights were the pride of the Sovereign's Own they were not the only ones who made up the order. The men-at-arms while less glamorous than their noble counterparts processes more than three times their number and served in the role of heavy infantry.

Their combined arms would serve as the core of any Ferelden army, along with Maric's Shield which still maintained their peacetime position as palace troops. This was the army that had served so well during the campaign in Ostiwick and if things went according to plan would see much action in the upcoming months and years.

"Whoa there," the senior sentry called brandishing his spear as his comrades approached with sword, shield and torch held ready. Tiberius didn't answer; he did not need to because the moment the light from the torch revealed his face. "General Tiberius sir," the lead sentry barked coming to attention shortly followed by the rest of his men.

"Open the gate soldier," Tiberius ordered and the men hastened to obey.

Once the gates were open the general and his knightly guards rode through the gate where they dismounted in the courtyard and their mounts were led away by a handful of squires and pages towards the stables.

Dismissing the two knights Tiberius marched up the stairs and through the double doors at the front of the estate. The knights, men-at-arms, squires and pages scattered out of his way out of respect or fear… mostly the later.

In a few minutes he was standing before a massive steel door engraved with arcane symbols that Cecilia had carved into the door by hand. He wasn't sure what they meant or did, but what he did now was that absolutely no sound could leave the room and no magics could pass through the barrier to escape the room

"Open the door," he ordered to the two armored guards standing watch at the door. They nodded and each one began to work a hand crank on each side of the wall. The door was designed so that no one man could open it. Slowly the door ground open to reveal another chamber, another door and another pair of guards.

One more special thing about these doors was that in order for one to open the other needed to be closed. Also these knightly guards were more than they appeared. They were in fact renegade Templars who decided to quiet the Order of the Knights of Temple Circle for pursuit of more 'earthly' rewards. Cecilia had about dozen on her payroll as she found their skills useful.

There was a loud clang as the doors behind him closed and the templars went to work on opening the inner doors. It took them nearly a minute to undo the locks and the door swung open to unveil a massive chamber filled to the brim with books, tomes, parchments and grimoires of all kinds. It was perhaps one of the most impressive collections of magical writings outside of the Circles of Magi.

The room was completely sealed without any way in or out other than the main door and was only viable because of specially designed dwarven runes that fed the room with fresh air. At the far side of the chamber surrounded by a number of books sat the witch, Morrigan, at a high back wood desk.

"Witch," he called out resting his left hand on the pommel of his sword, "The Queen demands an update on your preparations."

Morrgian turned on him in her chair, regarding him with those sulfurous eyes of hers. "Do you have any idea of what she wants me to do? Even with the proper instructions already laid out I am trying to recreate a magic that hasn't been used in a millennia!"

"The update," Tiberius ground out in the same tone he would use on a knight or man-at-arms who had disappointed him. "Now!"

The witch sighed in a dramatic fashion, "I have everything prepared for the ritual of communication," she said with a gesture towards the table that had a golden chalice, dragon bones and a vial of blood from the High Dragon up in the Frostback Mountains. As for the second ritual however I have done everything I can do without the…," she paused and reached out and flipped through pages of an ancient leather bound book, "… Tear of Dumat."

The old general felt his lip twitch. At least he knew that much. The Orb at the moment was in the Antivian Royal Palace buried in the treasure vault. Cecilia was just lucky that to the Antivians the Tear was little more than a bauble. If they had any idea of the heretical nature of the object they held they would have destroyed it long ago.

"We'll have it soon enough," he promised.

XXX

"That's the last of it my prince," Baron Caron De Dalacroix said with a nod as the squires finished with the last strap of his armor.

Prince Charles experimentally tested his range of motion and when he found everything satisfactory he dismissed the squires belonging to the Queen's personal cadre of knights with his thanks. Next her grabbed his sword of the table in the preparation tent and strapped it his belt before he took his helmet and tucked it under his arms.

"Wish me luck Baron," Charles said with a cocky smirk as and before the baron could respond he strode past the nobleman and out of the tent. It was a short walk from his tent to the massive rectangular wooden and iron structure that housed the tourney.

As he approached the westward gate of the tourney field two Ferelden men-at-arms came to attention and clapped their right fists over their chest in salute. Charles raised his shield arm and shield in return to the men as they opened the door.

The Orlesian Prince stepped onto the sands to the roar of the crowd whose appetite from combat had already wetted by the earlier matches. With a twirling flourish of his sword Charles made his way to the center of the arena where his opponent was already waiting for him.

Lucius Castus, the military tribune, stood armored in the traditional style of a Tevinter legionary officer wearing the superbly made Lorica segmentata. The legionary armor was made of overlapping steel plates that covered the upper arms the shoulders and the torso like the scale of some great beast. On his legs he wore chainmail greaves underneath a blood red cloth skirt. On his head he wore the Imperial Italic helm made of steel with gilded motifs and a red dyed horsehair crest that ran from the front of the helm down the back.

Unlike Charles who was armed sorely with an Orlesian bastard sword with a double fuller cross section the legionnaire was armed with the Tevinter made spatha cavalryman's sword which was nearly thirty centimeters longer than the legionary infantry sword, the gladius. Also unlike Charles the legionnaire carried a massive rectangular, semi cylindrical shield called a scutum which when placed on the ground would cover him up to the base of his neck.

Like with all the matched before the Queen's uncle, Teyrn Cousland, the ruler of the territory of Highever introduced the combatants and gave the rules of engagement for the upcoming battle. When he was finished Charles faced the tribune and raised his sword in salute. The tribune responded by thumping his right fist over his heart before shooting is arm out straight in a Tevinter style salute.

The Prince of Orlais donned his helmet and secured the fastenings. Now ready he signaled the Teyrn, the Master of Ceremonies, he was ready and assumed a balanced fighting stance. As expected the tribune raised his shield in front of him, crouched down so that his eyes were just above the steel rim of the shield and rested the flat of his sword on the top of his shield.

With steady and deliberate steps the tribune advanced as all the legions of Tevinter had for ages past like a force of nature intent on grinding down any opposition. Today, however, the tribune didn't have his brother legionaries at his side for form a mobile saw of razor sharp steel to carve a bloody swathe through his opponents.

But even without his brothers the military tribune would be a foe unlike any the Prince had ever before fought. There was a reason that the Imperium still boasted one of the finest fighting forces in the entire world. Charles quickly decided a plan of action and charged holding his raised sword in a two-handed grip.

Throwing his full weight behind his sword he slashed at the tribune's right side which would either force him to shift his shield to block the strike preventing him from counter-attacking or blocking with his spatha which would result in the same.

Lucius Castus shifted his shield and with a resounding 'clang' the Prince's sword slammed into the steel rim of the scutum with a force that staggered the tribune. Not giving the man a chance to regroup Charles spun on his heel, bringing his long sword around for another punishing blow. He smashed again and again forcing the tribune back.

Pivoting on his heels he put all his might into the next blow. This time the blade of the longsword didn't merely bounce of the tribune's shield, but buried itself well over a dozen centimeters into the reinforced wood of the scutum.

Charles cursed as he tried to rip his weapon free but found it was stuck in the shield. Unfortunately for the prince the legionnaire realized the delicate situation and thrust out with his spatha. Knowing he had no other choice he released his own weapon to dodge the tribune's thrust.

Dropping back out of range of the spatha he drew a long, thin bladed dagger and held it in a reversed grip with the blade running parallel to his forearm. With a grimace he stepped out of the tribune's range as the legionnaire cast his compromised shield aside and wrapped his free hand around the pommel of his sword.

A lifetime of experience and training taught Charles that in a situation against an opponent with a sufficiently longer weapon he was at a disadvantage. It left him only one course of action. Digging his heels into the ground he pushed off and charged at the tribune.

He must have surprised the Tevinter as he could see the man's eyes go wide from beneath his gilded helm. The tribune was no fool, but was unused to fighting one on one. The tribune thrust out with his sword and the Prince felt the air rush from his lungs as the tip glanced off his breastplate with enough force to be painful.

Had it not been for his plate such a blow would have easily meant his end. With the distant closed the entirety of fancy sword work went out the proverbial window as the fight devolved into a brutal hand to hand fight.

With an open palmed strike Charles knocked the spatha away from himself and with a savage twist forced his opponent to drop the weapon. Undeterred the tribune swung his left elbow smashing to the Prince's helmeted face causing Charles his own weapon to go flying. Charles was staggered from the force of the blow but recovered fast enough to avoid the next strike from his opponent and counterattack by slamming his forearm into the back of the tribune's elbow with enough force to dislocate but not break.

As the tribune cursed in pain and then from shock as Charles swept his legs out from under him. The Tevinter tribune hit the ground with a rattle of steel and before he could recover Charles snatched the legionaries' sword held it to the man's throat.

"Yield," Charles panted heavily from his exertion as he pressed the tip of the blade into the flesh of the man's neck.

The tribune stilled for a moment and Charles could see brief slashes of pain in the man's face before he finally nodded. "I yield," the man echoed first in the tongue of the Imperium before he repeated it again in Orlesian.

Satisfied the Prince pulled the sword away from the Tevinter's neck before burying it in the ground at his own feet. A glance to the right revealed the entrance doors had been thrown opened and two mage healers and several servants ran onto the sand to help the wounded party.

The first mage called to him and asked if he needed assistance. Charles was about to wave him off when his next breath caused a searing sensation in his abdomen and knew from experience he a broken at least one rib.

He gestured to the mage. "I think I could use some help after all," he said with a slight smile.

"Of course milord."

XXX

"Most impressive," Cecilia said with approval clear in her tone as the prince exited the accompanied by a healing mage and was followed by two servants carrying the on a medical litter. The fact that the Orlesian won wasn't all that surprising, in fact she would have been more surprised if he had lost.

The legionnaires of Tevinter were highly trained and disciplined soldiers and almost invincible when allowed form ranks and settle into their formations. Operating individuality they weren't nearly as strong. And for that reason nearly every time the legions had lost was because they hadn't been able to deploy properly, been ambushed, or were force to fight on highly unfavorable ground.

"Indeed," Tiberius replied as he looked down at her as Dakrak fastened on her last pieces of armor. "I thought for a moment he might not make it."

"He won in the end and that is all that matters." In the end the victory was the only thing that mattered Cecilia internally confirmed as she tested her range of motion. Finding it more than satisfactory she motion to her dwarven manservant and he gently lifted her sword belt with her sheathed sword attached.

The Queen took a few seconds to strap on her belt and once it was secure she wrapped the fingers of her right hand around the pommel and gave it an experimental pull to make sure that pulled free. On occasion either frost or moisture could get inside the sheath and make the blade stick to the leather. In combat it could me the difference between life and death and on the sand it would mean major embarrassment.

Again satisfied with her equipment she re-sheathed her sword and took her helm that Dakrak proffered with thanks and tucked it under her arm. The dwarf was among her most loyal followers and it did her good to show him thanks. It cost her nothing and yet earned his friendship and loyalty.

Her foresworn dwarf bowed, "No thanks required your majesty. I as always am your humble servant."

"Which I shall always remember," she intoned with a brief inclination of her head and again the dwarf bowed.

With a turn she grabbed her shield and headed away from the royal pavilion towards the gates of the arena. The moment her black boots hit the sands a mighty cheer shook the stands as the people cheered for their Queen. Cecilia gave an artful twirl of her blade before thrusting it skyward to draw another exalted shout from the crowd.

Waiting for her on the stand stood a warrior in gleaming silver plate on which a rearing double headed griffin was etched. This man was one of the Grey Wardens out of the Denerim compound which housed the few Wardens that the Queen had allowed to remain in Ferelden.

Unfortunately for the Grey Wardens as an Order the fame and glory for the ending of the Fifth Blight was awarded to the late King, Queen, and their company of adventures. For the last several tourneys the Wardens had entered a man or two into the fighting as a chance to increase their standing in a country where they were just barely tolerated. For a second Cecilia wondered at the coin the Wardens spread around to sure one of their men would fight her.

Ten paces away she halted and the Grey Warden bowed low at the waist in salute and homage to her the Queen of Ferelden. Beneath her faceless helm Cecilia frowned at the Warden across from her. If truth be told she always felt a sense of unease around the Grey Wardens that she assumed to be because of the taint they carried in their blood.

She wasn't completely sure if they felt anything around her as she did around them. Which was of course was a reason she stayed away from the Wardens as much as possible. Her distaste for them may have also been due in part to the fact that they slew Dumat, Zazikel, Toth, Andoral and nearly killed her… him… whomever.

"Dis ist a great honor for me your majesty," the big blonde said with an Anderfels accent that marked him of a native of the vast frozen steppes land in the far north where the Order of the Grey Wardens were founded and their magnificent fortress city of Weishaupt was located. In the Anderfels the Order was the premier power and all but ruled the country with, as the old saying went, with a fist of steel inside a velvet glove.

"So it is," Cecilia replied somewhat cryptically as her uncle began his opening speech. As he finished she drew her sword and was mirrored by the Grey Warden.

XXX

In the stands the three Antivian Crows discussed a royal servants watched the fight below. Sophia, the only female member of the assassination team, scoffed at the display. "So much for the legendary skills of the Grey Wardens."

Hector, the nominal leader of the group, had to agree with her. The Queen was manhandling the Grey Warden and was only a step away from utterly embarrassing him. Hector by his own admission wasn't the best swordsman; he wasn't even a great swordsman, but he knew enough to know that the poor man was outclassed. She was three steps ahead of every move he made and effortlessly dodged his strikes. This was nowhere near a fair fight.

He watched with rapt attention as the Queen moved her sword like a painter with a brush before a canvas. Unlike the fencing duels of the Antivian nobles he had seen and been trained to fight in the Queen used every weapon available to her. She struck him with the pommel of her sword, in addition to the edge and flat of the blade, her armored fist and the edge and flat of her shield.

All of a sudden a massive cry rang out from the stands as the Queen bashed her shield into the Warden knocking him back. Before the man could recovered she, following her own momentum, spun and smashed the cross guard of her knightly arming sword into the side of his head.

Even from his position in the stands Hector could see as the Warden went limp and collapsed to the ground, unconscious… or possible worse. As the Teryn of Highever announced Queen Cecilia as the winner of this match the crowd once more went wild with excitement.

As he watched his sense of unease grew at the thought of carrying out his orders. If she got even the slightest whiff of what was going on she's butcher them without breaking a sweat. Gritting his teeth he stood and said to his comrades, "Come on we should get back to the palace."

"I just have to collect my winnings first," Raphael said as he headed towards the betting booth.

Hector cursed at his brother Crow for his greed. Next to him Sophia called Raphael a name that would have made even a whore blush. It was something he found ironic because to his mind Sophia was little better than the things that sold themselves on the street for coin.

As he thought of it; it was even more ironic considering that he was an assassin himself. Did that that make him better than a whore or perhaps even worse because whores only traded their bodies for coin while he traded lives.

"So it's almost over," Sophia whispered saucily as they left the arena. To anyone listening they could have easily assumed they were talking about the end of the tourney, but in reality they were talking about their mission to assassinate the Queen.

"Two more days of fighting until the final match and then we can go home," Hector said eager to be gone from the city and its bad omens.

XXX

"Ladies and gentleman, my fellow nobles and commoners," the Teyrn of Highever Fergus Cousland announced from the box overlooking the arena. "I am proud to present to you our final combatants for our most noble Grand Tourney of Ferelden. The first of our combatants is the honored Prince Charles of Orlais, son of the Empress Celene the first."'

On the sand of the arena said Prince raised his sword in salute to the Teyrn and the crowd. Like before he wore a gleaming silver suit of full plate with an Orlesian bastard sword with a double fuller cross section. After dropping his sword he buried the point in the sand and placed his bascinet helm on his head and snapped the visor closed.

Retrieving his sword he shifted onto an en' guard position and wrapped his hands tightly around the sword knowing that this would be mostly likely the most difficult fight of his life. He had watched the Queen's fights as she had undoubtedly watched his and discovered that she was possible the greatest swordsman he'd ever scene.

"Our second combatant, our six time Grand Tourney winner, my niece and our great Queen Cecilia Therein," he finished with his arms held wide open and a proud look on his visage.

The Queen wore her iconic black armor and templar style helm along with a long arming sword and a triangular heater shield. She flourished her shield in a wide forward arc before settling into a defensive formation with her she held out in front of her and her sword point out in front of her with the blade parallel to the ground.

"Begin!"

For several seconds they stood there circling on another until Charles made an exploratory thrust with his bastard sword towards the Queen's center. As he expected she batted away the sword with her shield and slashed across his stomach.

With a quick step back he barely avoided the swords strike as the tip just barely grazed the plate of his stomach. Taking another step back he swung his sword in a right to left side sweeping motion to try to force her back and away from him.

Dropping to her right knee she raised her shield and caught the force of his blow on the shield while thrusting her arming sword forward and piercing about an inch into the lower section of his chest plate. Charles pulled back and before he could recover Cecilia opening with a forward swing over her shield and following up with an overhand strike.

By the barest of luck he managed to avoid the shield strike and managed to block the over hand strike using a half-sword technique. Using his superior strength and leverage he knocked her blade back and delivered powerful kick to her midsection. Again using the half-sword technique he attacked and thrust his blade straight at her.

The Queen managed to get her shield up but the energy of his strike managed to penetrate the heater steel shield she carried. However that wasn't enough to take her out of the fight as she deftly slipped out of the shield's leather straps leaving it skewered on the bastard sword. Charles swung the sword like a wollop mallet causing the queen to leap out of the way.

In the few extra moments he bought himself he ripped the heater off his sword and pivoted back to deliver a powerful strike vertical strike. The moment he made it he knew he made a critical mistake. The Queen side stepped the blow and with a two handed sweeping motion and caught him on the back of his leg in a strike that if it had been any stronger would have hamstringed him.

The Prince cursed as he felt his leg give out and fell straight onto his back in a process that knocked all the air from his lungs as he hit the ground. Before he could even think of getting up he found the Queen's boot on his chest and her sword at his throat.

The roar of the crowd drowned out anything she might have said. Slowly, reluctantly he raised his hand with two fingers showing in an ancient sign of surrender. As he looked up at her he would have sworn he saw laughter in her eyes through the slit in her helm. The Queen took a step back in a smooth motion sheathed her sword before proffering a hand.

Reaching up he raised his visor and gave her a smirk as he looked around at the cheering crowds before glancing back at the woman standing over him. As he had thought before, as he took her proffered hand, this was going to be a very interesting relationship.

XXX

The Grand Tourney of Ferelden was over and once more Ferelden's Queen stood victorious and those who had stood against her had been cast down. She had defeated Wardens, the cream of Ferelden knights and an Orlesian Prince.

As with the opening celebrations the Great Hall of the palace was packed full with dignitaries, nobles and the combatants from the Tourney. Again like before Cecilia, the Teyrn, her General and the Prince sat at the head table around a large roast boar.

A good while into the feast Cecilia stood, her ornate gold plated gleaming as she did, with her hands raised to silence the commotion in the Great Hall. As she stood Tiberius and her uncle called for silence and tradition demanded the room fell silent as all the occupants turned their glance upon their sovereign Queen.

"My fellow nobles and guests," Cecilia started her voice booming throughout the hall. "I would like to thank you for coming all this way for this Tourney," a small smirk touched her lips, "and to eat all my food and drink my ale."

That comment was met by roaring laughter from the assembled nobles before the Queen raised her hands again to silence the crowd who like before died down.

"Now in a more serious manner there is an announcement I would like to make," she gestured for Prince Charles to stand and the Orlesian did taking a position next to her. "As all of you are perhaps wondering a Prince of Orlais is doing in Ferelden?"

There was a certain amount of murmuring amongst the nobles as she expected. More than once one of the noblemen or ladies had questioned why the Prince was in Denerim and she had always promised to explain latter. Apparently not everyone had been convinced that the second in line of the Golden Throne of Orlais was in Ferelden to fight in a tournament of arms.

"Over the past months the Empress of Orlais and I have been in contact. Together she and I have come to an arrangement that will ensure peace between are two great nations." More chatter ensued from the nobles before Cecilia finally delivered. "I have decided to enter into marriage with Prince Charles to secure the alliance of our lands."

Most of the assembled stood and clapped. While the Orlesians weren't the most popular people to Ferelden's the hate wasn't burning as bright as it was a decade ago when the occupation wasn't yet a generation removed. While there were still a few of the nobles who had lived during the occupation most of them had not. Most were too busy getting rich off trade with the Orlesian border cities and the Free Marches to worry about old hatreds.

However one noble Bann Renault the Lord of the Dragon's Peak stood in protest. It was well known among the members of the Bannorn that Renault and Queen butted heads more often than. Bann Renault was amongst the most conservative of the nobility and led what was collectively known as the "Old Guard."

"My liege," the old Bann started with a hiss, "is this truly a wise decision. To ally ourselves in such a permanent manner to Orlais," he said the word with disgust, "and given our past relations…"

"Bann Renault," Cecilia said forcing civility into her tone. "Under my rule we have expanded Ferelden control to the Alamar and Brandel's Reach islands and established domination over the city-state of Ostwick. An alliance with Orlais will secure our western flank and only increase the prosperity of the kingdom. I would ask you to trust in me."

Whatever the Bann was about to say was drowned out by the response of those nobles loyal to the Queen. Eventually with a sigh the Bann surrendered the floor and sat back down at the table. After Bann Renault sat down apparently defeated Teryn Cousland stood and proposed a toast to the future union.

XXX

The festivities went well into the night. The moon had long since reached its zenith in the night's sky and began its slow descent towards the west by the time the last soul in the palace went to sleep. Carefully with the skills honed by years of training Hector slipped from his bed in the servant's quarters and out into the hallway.

He caught a flash of shadow from down the hall and stilled himself for action. Without a weapon he knew that he didn't stand a chance against an armed patrol of guards, but running would most certainly damn him in their minds.

As he stood hidden in the shadows trying to make a decision the shadows on the wall convalesced into the familiar shapes of Raphael and Sophia. Taking a breath of relief Hector separated himself from the shadows.

"Did you get what we need," he asked quickly but softly.

Raphael flashed him a cocky grin as he opened the front of his servant's tunic revealing two long, carefully concealed daggers. For twice in what had seemed as many seconds Hector breathed a sigh of relief. It had been Raphael's assignment to retrieve the weapons the assassins had squirreled away upon arriving at the palace.

Pulling one of the weapons from his belt Raphael gave it a toss and in a deft movement Hector plucked it from the air. He took a brief second to pull the blade from its sheath and admire the craftsmanship. It was long, incredibly sharp and right above the hand guard was the symbol of the Antivian Crows.

"Hurry we must get to the royal wing," Sophia insisted and he had to agree so he sheathed his weapon and concealed it beneath his tunic.

The trio of assassins stealthily made their way through the dimly lit corridors of the Ferelden Royal Palace. Twice they had to stop to avoid patrols of slightly drunken guardsmen, but neither forced the group to double back or worse confront them.

It took Hector slightly longer than he would have wanted, but they eventually ended outside the long hall that led to the Royal Wing of the palace and beyond that the Queen's room. Unfortunately for the, the lack of sobriety that seemed to afflict the rest of the palace guard was absent from these three men.

Under his breath Hector heard Raphael curse and felt like doing the same himself. Carefully he slid his sword from his sheath and readied his weapon and saw his comrades doing the same. He flashed Raphael and Sophia a hand sign and the slowly nodded brandishing their long daggers.

The Ferelden guards were big and well trained, but they completely taken by surprise. Hector caught the first man with a slash across the throat. The guard fell uselessly clutching at his throat, not that it would do him any good. The assassin spared a quick glance and found that the pair of guards had been disposed, but not without some injury.

There was a deep red stain spreading across the front of Raphael's serving tunic. "Are you alright," Sophia asked as he clenched at his chest.

"I will be fine," the assassin hissed. "We need to dispose of the bodies."

"No time," Sophia whispered as she took a few seconds to exam her fellow assassins wound before deciding that it was not bad enough for them to stop.

"Agreed," Hector seconded as he stripped a set of keys from the guard and moved down through corridor towards the stoat wooden door at the far end of the hallway that belonged to the Queen.

Reaching the door he inserted the keys into the lock one at a time until the lock clicked signifying he had selected the right one. With a whine that seemed as load as a high dragon's roar the door opened on its hinges.

Gripping the handle of his blade tightly he slipped into the Queen's apartment complex with his comrades in tow. Like shadows on shadows the assassins moved towards the room that would most likely be the Queen's bedchambers.

As one would expect the Queen's chamber was lavish and the massive four-post bed that rested in the middle of the chamber was covered in rich silks and cloths. Through the silken wall Hector could easily make out a figure lying on the bed with her back to them and wrapped in fur lined blankets.

Taking soft breaths and carefully steps Hector approached the bed. Despite all the training, all the hours he had put into these arts, every time it came down to doing the deed he found his hand sweating and his heart beating erratically.

Reaching out he parted the curtain and drew back his blade in preparation for the final strike. Snaking out his hand and swiftly wrapped his around the beautiful woman's mouth and slid the tip of the blade into the base of her neck.

The blonde haired Queen of Ferelden convulsed once as the blade pierced the spine before falling forever still in the embrace of death. With shaky hands he released the blade, leaving the engraved steel blade buried in the fresh corpse's flesh. As he backed away Sophia followed him up with a strike and Raphael did the same.

"Come on we need to go," Hector hissed. The plan for their escape was carefully laid and they needed to reach the Antivian embassy quickly before the body was discovered. Once there the ambassador had fresh steeds waiting for them to get them Highever and from Highever they would sail across the Waking Sea to Kirkwall.

As he turned to leave a hiss of disbelief filled the air. Hector turned back and saw Raphael standing over the body of the Queen with his face frozen in a mixture of horror and disbelief.

"What is it," Sophia questioned who was just as confused as Hector was about Raphael's reaction to their deed.

Reaching down the assassin grabbed the handful of the woman's golden locks and titled the head so as to reveal the face to the others. "This is not the Queen," Raphael said with his voice tight.

Narrowing his eyes Hector stepped closer. He'd only been in the Queen's presence one the night before the tourney started and because of the darkness he hadn't got a very good look. However the moment Raphael parted the hair over the years it became obvious that this wasn't the Queen… in fact the body wasn't even human; it was an elf.

Slowly with the look of a man who knew he had been outsmarted and was an instant away from death. "It's the Queen's maid," he quietly explained.

Hector starred dumbly his mind trying to put together what he had just heard. It wasn't till he heard the telltale 'twang' of a crossbow bolt that he realized that he had just walked into a trap. In the more distant corner of his mind he wondered just how much the Fereldens knew.

XXX

**While the Tevinter Imperium won't feature heavily into the first part of this series it while latter. The way I decided to write the Imperium as a copy of what the Roman Empire may have looked like if they had magic. So they're going to have Prefects, Tribunes and Centurions, wear the armor that people associate with the Romans, fight using Roman legionary tactics, etc.**

**Also I'd like to point out that the Mage-Templar War at the end of Dragon Age 2 ended with the Champion of Kirkwall butchering the Mages and becoming Viscount. **

**Review Please**


	5. Chapter 4

**The Dragon Queen: Beginnings **

Chapter 4: The Hornet's Nest

In the courtyard of what years before had been the Arl of Denerim's estate and now belonged to the members of the Sovereign's Own, the Queen's own elite group of knights and men-at-arms, over a hundred fully armored, armed and horsed knights and twice as many men-at arms stood silently in an impressive display of military might.

On his steed General Markus Tiberius sat somewhat impatiently awaiting for his orders. The general of Ferelden's armies spared a glance to his right and then his left admiring the ranks of soldiers. The blackened plate of the knights and chain of the men-at-arms glistened under the moonlight like some spectral force from man's darkest nightmares.

Slowly the sound of horse hooves on the cobblestone grew in the distance and through the gates of the old estate turned fortress a single rider appeared with a torch in his hand and wearing the livery of Maric's Shield, the palace troops.

Without a word the horseman handed the general a piece of wax sealed parchment and then took off back into the night. Tiberius pulled a knife from his saddle and swiftly cut through the ruby red wax seal. Unfurling the parchment he took notice of the single word inscribed on the animal skin paper.

_Proceed_

The word was written in looping formal hand and signed with an ornate upper case C. Taking a deep breath Tiberius motioned to the knight, Ser Raymond, at his side who was holding a light torch. Silently Raymond tilted the torch in his direction and Tiberius wordlessly exposed the parchment to the flames. Within seconds it was consumed by the flames and it ashes disappeared as they were caught by a strong breeze.

Wordlessly Tiberius donned his fearsome horned helm and silently all the knights and men-at-arms did the same. For several moments the only sound to be heard in the courtyard was the sound of metal on metal and cloth.

Spurring his mount Tiberius moved out in front of the ranks and tugging on the reigns turned to face them. Taking a deep breath he spoke in a booming voice that echoed throughout the courtyard. "We all know our orders gentlemen!"

He drew his sword and held it high, the metal of the blade shinning under the pale light of the moon and roared, "For Ferelden and Queen Cecilia."

"For Ferelden and the Queen," the men echoed back, brandishing their swords and spears and then rank by rank the knights and men-at-arms filed into four long columns each one led by a senior knight and with a specific task assigned to them.

Tiberius watched they moved in perfect synchronicity like a well-oiled machine and beneath his helm he smiled proudly. Re-sheathing his sword he spurred his horse again and joined the final contingent which had been assigned the most important mission of them all.

XXX

The sound of a crossbow bolt makes when it impacts soft unarmored flesh is a sound Hector knew he would never forget. Sophia went down first with a bolt to the throat and Raphael took then next two in the leg and shoulder, his screams of pain filling the room.

Throwing himself over the bed Hector just barely avoided becoming stuck himself. Reaching back onto the bed he pulled one of the three assassin blades from the still cooling corpse of the Queen's maid. He knew it was a futile gesture especially when three of the Queen's knights burst into the room, fully armored and armed with sword and shield.

One of the knights grabbed a still screaming Raphael and hauled him out of the room. The other two black armored knights shifted to face him. The one on the right called out as they advanced, "Come here ya Antivian bastard."

Hector back pedaled knowing that unarmored and with only an assassins blade he didn't stand a chance against two fully equipped knights who more likely knew more about sword play and close combat than he would ever know. While he was a trained killer so were they and on this field they held the upper hand.

Unless he did something and did something soon he would die. He would be cut down by these Fereldans without ever knowing who had betrayed him and his comrades. Suddenly an idea came to him. He glanced to his left and saw an open window. Knowing he only he had a few seconds he tried to remember where the Royal Wing was in relation to the rest of the place.

The knight on the lunged with his sword and Hector just barely managed to knock it away with his dagger. Lashing out he managed to force the warrior back giving himself some critical breathing and thinking room.

Cursing and hoping he was right, but knowing it was his only chance Hector launched himself at the window. He had just enough time to hear the knights shout at him as he slammed through the wooden window shutters and out of the second story opening. As he burst through the window he was torn between being terrified of falling and relieved that he was right and the Queen's quarters were overlooking the river Drakon that ran right through the middle of the city.

With a definite scream of fear he threw his arms in front of his face as the dark blue water rushed up to meet him. The last thought that ran through his mind as he hit the water was that maybe this wasn't a good idea.

XXX

"Maker," Charles cursed as he awoke breathing heavily. Taking his head in his hands he forced breathing to steady and tried to banish the images of a willing and wanton Cecilia from his mind. He hadn't had a dream like that in a very long time.

Gingerly he pushed himself out of his bed and made his way over to his vanity and washed his face in the bowl of water there. As he did he became aware of shouting and the telltale sound of steel boots on the stone floor of the castle.

Pulling a robe out of the wardrobe he tightened the sash tight around his waist before retrieving his sword and head towards the door. Carefully he pried upon the door with his sword tight in his hand and found that the hall was filled with six men wearing the livery of the palace guard. He also noticed that they were fully arrayed in battle gear.

"Ho there," Charles demanded of one of the guardsmen, "What is going here?"

The leader of the guardsmen patrol a squat stocky veteran who looked like he'd been through hell more than once stepped forward, "My Prince we have been ordered here for your protection."

Protection, he echoed in his mind. They were in the middle of a fortress surrounded by a regiment of guards. Frowning he asked, "Protection from what?"

The guardsman shifted on his feet as if debating rather or not to tell him. Growling the prince stepped out of the hall with his sword in his hand. Even in a robe Charles towered over the guard. Looking down on the short man Charles growled, "Guardsmen…"

"Breks your highness," he stammered.

"Guardsmen Breks in a short time I'll be a Prince of Ferelden and Prince Consort or not I will have power here…," he more or less threatened letting the end trail off to its obvious conclusion.

"There was an assassination attempt on the Queen's life," the guard babbled.

Eyes wide and with a voice full of concern that struck him by surprise he stepped forward. "Attempt you say? Does she still live?"

"Aye," the man and his fellows nodded and there was no mistaking the relief of their features and his own. "Or at least the orders were issued in her name."

The grimly manner in which he said that last sentence made him aware that he had to know as well as Charles did that any name could be put to an order. While it wasn't a deception that could be maintained for long it could make all the difference if this was a coup. In Orlais if such a thing had happened he'd have immediately taken command of the _de Gendarmerie de l'Impératrice_, the Orlesian Royal Guard and prepared to move against any conspirators should they materialize.

"Take me to the Queen right away," Charles demanded feeling annoyance creep over him at his apparent uselessness; that and his genuine fear for Cecilia's life.

"I'm sorry sir but my orders are very clear on that. Where to keep you, the baron and your kni- chevaliers here under protection," the man said sounding relieved to have something fall directly into the scope of his orders.

Charles opened his mouth when the door to the apartment next to him opened and his second Baron Caron De Dalacroix emerged in a robe with the symbol of his house emblazoned on the chest and a sword in his hand.

"What the hell is going on here," the Baron demanded groggily and in Orlesian as he stood in the doorway to his chamber.

"Someone tried to kill the Queen," he explained in the same tongue before dismissing the guardsmen back to their assignment.

"Sacrebleu," the Baron cried out in shock. Charles wasn't sure if he was doing it just for the benefit of the guards or he was generally shocked. Certainly he was no stranger arranged 'accidents' or 'mishaps.' The baron had been a member of the _de Gendarmerie de l'Impératrice _for many years and the Royal Guard of Orlais was just a notorious for arranging assassinations of the enemies of the Imperial family as it was for protecting them.

With a strange look on his face the Baron said again in Orlesian, "It wasn't us… was it?"

XXX

With a thunderous crash and a shower of splinter the door to the Antivian embassy shattered as two knights smashed through the door with a small portable battering ram.

Tiberius watched from his mount as a small company of knights stormed the wooden and stone structure with their swords drawn. There was a confused shout from within, followed by a muffed scream as the unnamed servant was most likely ran through.

Several long minutes later two knights emerged from the embassy hauling a robed figure between them. With a savage toss the man was thrown at the hooves of the general's horse. Sputtering indignantly the man forced himself to his knees and barked in Antivian accented Ferelden, "What the hell is going on here! I am a diplomatic representative from-"

Tired of the man's nasally voice Tiberius gave one of the knights a gesture and the knight responded with a quick and powerful jab to the ambassador's ribs. The rat-like man whimpered as he crumpled to the ground in pain.

"Take him to the keep," the general ordered and the ambassador was hauled roughly to his feet despite his protests. Then turning to one of the senior knights he continued, "I want every document secured and prepared for transport back to the palace!"

"What of the servants," Ser Raymond questioned from the saddle next to him as a bundle of servants were dragged from the embassy. It was a loaded question as the knight already had to know that there could be no loose ends.

Tiberius gave the knight a pointed look and the man merely shrugged in response. Turning back the general barked a single order and the knights fell upon their captives with their swords. Needless to say they made quick brutal work of the survivors.

"General," a horsed messenger called out, "Ser Edward and Robert report they have sealed off the northern and western gates and are converging on the southern gate. They are confident they will have the city secured within the hour."

"Order them to move faster," Tiberius barked an order and had the satisfaction of seeing the messenger jump.

"Right away milord." With the horseman pulled on the reigns of his horse and fled back down the cobblestone streets of Denerim.

So far, Tiberius mused, everything was going according to plan. Edward and Robert's forces were sealing off the only ways in or out of the city. With a quick order to Raymond he would send the bulk of his own forces to secure the dockyards on the eastern edge of the city.

XXX

"You lost him," Cecilia growled at the trio of knights that stood before.

The senior member amongst the knights took a step forward. "He…he jumped out the window your majesty," the knight said wide-eyed and fearful. "What were we supposed to do?"

The Queen of Ferelden coldly regarded the men before her. They were scared, she could easily tell that and with good purpose. She was no easy task master and they knew it. The rumors of those unfortunate enough to earn her extreme displeasure were… unsettling to say the least. That and Dakrak stood next to her with his absurdly large broad axe.

"Consider yourselves all on report," she finally decided. After all in the comes weeks and months she was going to need every fighting she could muster. Without relenting in her glare on the shaking figures she ordered, "Dakrak take these three and the however many members of the palace guard you deem fit and conduct a sweep of the river banks. Contact the city guard if you must, but if he is still in the city I want him found!"

"And if he has been swept out into the Waking Sea?"

"Then he is dead and good riddance, but I want to make sure," she said in a tone broking no further argumentation, "No loose ends Dakrak."

The dwarf inclined his head in obedience. "Will you be joining us in the hunt?"

For a second Cecilia considered I, but eventually said, "No. I need to meet with Prince Charles and my uncle."

"Of course your majesty," he said with bow and turned with the trio of very relieved knights in tow.

Cecilia watched them go and when they vanished through the door she slammed her bare fist into the stone wall and was rewarded with a spike of pain. With an effort she pushed the pain away and wrestled her emotions under control. She was forced to remind herself of the old adage that 'no plan survived contact with the enemy.'

Gritting her teeth she came to the conclusion that there was nothing the assassin could know that would be a threat to her. All the intermediaries were dead and their tracks well covered. The only thing he'd have is his suspicions and that wasn't nearly enough; plus if fate was kind to her then maybe he'd drown in the Drakon or Dakrak would catch him.

For in large her plans were undisturbed. She stalked her way through the corridors towards the guest wing where she was sure a very anxious Orlesian Prince waited. She passed into the guest wing of the through a small phalanx of guards who were there to protect the Orlesians.

"Your majesty," the senior guardsmen saluted with near overwhelming relief in his tone.

"Is the Prince still in his quarters," the Queen questioned the exuberant guardsmen. She had issued the guard very specific instructions and she would be very upset if this simple order had been disobeyed. To her satisfaction the guard nodded rapidly. Pleased she moved passed the guard headed towards the chambers she had gifted to the Prince of Orlais.

Standing before the door she rapped her knuckles on the wood before pushing the door. To her amusement she found the Prince sitting with his boots up on his desk, a goblet of wine in one hand with his sheathed sword in the other. He must have heard the whine of the door hinges opening because he turned around in his chair.

"Cecilia its… it's wonderful to see that you are well," Charles said rising to his feet. "Do we know the identity of the villains responsible?"

Once more Cecilia found herself surprised but the amount of feeling in the Prince's tone. During the last week or so Prince Charles had honestly seemed to develop a genuine attachment and affection for her. At first she had thought it an act to gain her trust, but as time had gone on she had come to believe it wasn't.

Finally she decided to answer. "The Antivian Crows were responsible."

The Prince swore in Orlesian and Cecilia felt a blush threaten to bloom across her face at the vulgarity of his phrase. Despite her royal upbringing Cecilia had from a young had been accustomed to coarse language and men. Even so the words that fell from his mouth shocked her for the simple reason she never expected to hear them from Orlesian gentry.

Pinching the bridge of his brow Charles sighed. "I'm sorry Cecilia it appears I have spent too much time amongst soldiers."

"If that is a failing then it is one we both share," she said with small, amused twitch of her lip as she clapped him on the shoulder. Despite all the experiences her 'condition' bequeathed to her she still found her vocabulary increasing the longer the she spent around soldiers.

As she intended he laughed at her remark. Cecilia turned and made to leave saying. "Now I must meet with my uncle. He is understandably agitated and worried after recent events."

"Allow me to escort you to the Teyrn's chambers," Charles interrupted stepping forward with his hand resting on his sword. "There might be more assassins waiting for you now that their main attempt as failed. These Crows are devious little shits."

The way he said that last bit made her think he was talking from personal experience. "You have some knowledge in this area?"

A dark frown settled on the Prince's face and he snarled. "Two years ago Duke Kasper the late Duke of Mont-de-Glace hired a group of Crows to assassinate my mother the Empress after she slighted him at court… they came very close. Far too close for my comfort."

Cecilia was torn between being happy at the Crows for making her job so much easier and being angry that her agents had apparently missed the fact the Antivian Crows had tried to assassinate the Empress of Orlais. She had known that Duke Kasper IV had died under mysterious circumstances a little over a year and a half ago, but her agents hadn't been able to discover the exact circumstances for his removal.

Assenting with a nod she allowed the Orlesian Prince to shadow her as she exited his suite. The guardsmen offered her an escort through the palace, but the Queen politely declined. She highly doubted there were any Crows left in the palace, and if there was she had no doubt that she and the Prince could handle them.

When they turned to enter wing of the palace where Teyrn Cousland and the other high nobles were quartered they were greeted by the all too familiar sound of steel being drawn from a sheath. Instinctively Cecilia's hand went to her side where her sword was sheathed, but the moment her uncle's armored knights realized who they were they swiftly re-sheathed their swords and saluted.

Cecilia nodded at her uncle's personal guard. "I'm here to see the Teyrn," she announced and the knights saluted again and opened the heavy wooden door.

"Cecilia!" Teyrn Cousland shouted as he crossed the room to wrap the Queen in a crushing hug. "I had thought the worse when I heard…," he trailed off as he took a step back.

"I am fine uncle… the Crows failed in their task."

"Those bastards!" The Teyrn swore angrily smashing his fist into his palm. "This is outrageous! They cannot be allowed to get away with such a… such a travesty!"

Teyrn Fergus Cousland was a prime example of what Fereldan nobility should be. He was a kind, fair and a just ruler. He generally cared about the people in his Teynir and helped them as much as he could. There was a reason beyond its location that Highever was amongst the wealthiest and most stable of all the regions of Ferelden.

However due to the loss of his parents, wife and son in the traitorous Arl Howe's sneak attack on Castle Highever the Teryn was extremely protective of what was left of his family and vengeful against those who would dare try to harm them. This was evidenced by the way he had taken a personal hand exterminating what was left of the Howe family.

Both Delilah and Thomas Howe had been caught by the Crown's and the Teryn's armies when they had marched on Amaranthine to reassert control after the end of the Blight. Both Howe's had found themselves swinging from the gallows by nightfall.

The sole remaining Howe, Nathaniel, had spent the Fifth Blight in the Free Marches and had escaped the Teyrn of Highever's initial purge of the Howes and the traitorous nobles of the lands of Amaranthine. However he was caught by a group of Grey Wardens who had been operating out of Vigil's Keep to help the Crown hunt down the remaining bands of darkspawn and was promptly conscripted to the ire of Teyrn Cousland.

Many years later at a formal meeting between the Grey Warden Commander and Cecilia, who was acting as regent in the aftermath of her mother's death and her father's withdrawal; Cecilia had taken the opportunity to ensure the unending gratitude of her uncle by offering him what had escaped his grasp for so many years and had invited him to the meeting. During the meeting Nathaniel had made a poor comment which the Teyrn had promptly taken offence. The insult had quickly elevated to an armed duel and the last of the Howe's met his inglorious end.

The Warden Commander of course had been furious at the Teyrn and had threatened conscription until Cecilia had subtly reminded the Warden that he and his Order remained in Ferelden only by the Crown's invitation. The then Crown-Princess of Ferelden had known, through intercepted courier messages, that the Warden Commander had been ordered by the First Warden in the Anderfels to do whatever he need to do to ensure the Wardens maintained a presence in Ferelden. So he backed down culled by the implied threat had had been promptly replaced by a Warden from the Anderfels a few weeks later. It was the same desire to protect and avenge his family that had driven her uncle to such measures to take his vengeance that Cecilia hoped to harness now.

"We cannot allow them to get away with this. I will not let them." The Teyrn promised darkly. "We need to call a landsmeet to address this."

This was exactly what she wanted but forced herself suppress those feelings of pride in her plans. Schooling her features into one of skepticism she said. "Are you sure that's necessary?"

"They are already in Denerim and we need to formulate a response." Her uncle said a bit forcibly before bowing his head. "With her majesty's permission and approval."

"Very well."

XXX

With chattering teeth Hector pulled himself out of the frigid nighttime waters of the river Drakon and onto the cobblestone streets of Ferelden's capital city. It took every pounce of willpower he possessed not to through himself on the stones and just rest. Forcing himself through the pain he pushed himself off the street and began staggering done the road.

Fortunately for him the street was empty and he only had to avoid the occasional patrol of guardsmen and the occasional group of black armored fellows belonging to the Sovereign's Own. Hector's first instinct was to head towards the embassy, but he quickly decided against that idea.

The moment the knights saw the engraving on the daggers the assassination team had been carrying they would undoubtedly realize that the Antivian Crows were involved. The second that happened the embassy would no longer be safe. The Crow ducked into an alley and leaned up against the wall while breathing hard and raggedly.

He needed to keep moving, he thought, but more than that he realized he needed a plan. As he peered out from the alley he looked for anything that would allow him to survive. He gazed up and down the street franticly. Suddenly he stropped as he saw a fairly large smithy and a plan began to form in his mind.

Swiftly but cautiously he made his way to the side door of the smithy and with a small piece of metal he had found on the street he jimmied the lock on the door open. Pushing on the sturdy wooden door he entered the ground floor of the smithy. Glancing around he felt his lips pull upward as he saw what he had hoped to see.

Along the back of the wall were several suits of chain mail cover in the surcoats and made in the style of the Denerim City Guard. In barrels along another wall were dozens of spears, swords, arrow heads and solid iron crossbow bolts.

Hector moved quiet as a chantry mouse so not to wake anyone living in the smithy. Carefully he removed a set of chain from the stands and began to dress in the city guard uniform. Once the mail was on he removed a sword from one of the barrels and slipped it into the sheath on his belt. Once the sword was in place he removed a helm and a spear to complete the disguise.

Slipping back out onto street he made his way towards the nearest gate. He knew the longer he stayed in the city the higher his chances of dying went up. While in his armor he could get around normal citizens of the city, but the uniform was likely to cause him more trouble than good if he ran into a city guard patrol.

Even as he made his way towards the southern gate he was under no illusion the on duty guards would let him through. He needed a reason for the guards to let him out of the city he realized. He froze as he heard a whinny and his head snapped to the right.

There was a local inn with a stable on the side and in the stable Hector saw several mounts feeding in their stalls. It suddenly occurred to him that the gate guards wouldn't be disinclined to let a single guard out of the city, but they might be more willing to let a dispatch rider go.

Entering the stables he nearly felt his heart jump into his chest when he saw a stable boy, but breathed a sigh of relief as he realized the boy was asleep on a pile of straw. Stepping softy he moved passed the boy and studied the selection of horses. Most were heavy, bulky draft horses suited for pulling carts, wagons or farming equipment. He frowned. Those wouldn't do. The guards would become suspicious if he, supposedly a dispatch rider, showed up on a farming horse.

"Thank the Maker," he whispered under his breath as he spotted a proper horse. It was a small riding horse that was most commonly called a palfrey. It wasn't nearly as big or as powerful as a destrier, war horse, but it was fast and able to ride hard for long distances.

It was also the exact kind of horse a city guard courier would be expected to ride. Glancing around he quickly selected a saddle and approached the horse. The stallion lifted his head from its basket of oats before silently returning to his meal. Thanking the Maker for his luck he saddled the stallion and climbed up on its back. The steed gave a brief snort of protest, but settled down once he was firmly in the saddle.

Hector felt a brief burst of shame well up in his chest as he realized that the stable boy would most likely be beaten for losing the horse, but it was either a beating for the boy or Hector's life and in the end he valued his life more.

Pulling the reigns and spurring the horse in the flank he rode out of the inn's stable and onto the street. He took a moment to orient himself to the gate and headed that way. He paused as a patrol of guardsmen passed by and to his relief they ignored him after he explained he was a courier.

As he approached the gatehouse Hector felt his stomach drop as he saw a large contingent of soldiers, not the City Guardsmen, but the Queen's own cadre of warriors. Putting on a bluster he in no way felt and hoping that his Fereldan accent held out just a little longer.

"Halt!" One of the spear wielding men-at-arms shouted as he approached the mass of armed and armored me. "Who goes there?"

I'm a dispatch rider. Open the gate," Hector shouted and patted the empty satchel on his saddle. The men-at-arms looked at one another, but before either could say anything another voice interrupted.

"What's going on here soldier," another figure hollered. Hector grimaced as he saw what was unquestionable a knight in full armored plate. The knight had a tight grip on his sword and was looking at Hector with a hard expression.

"I am a dispatch rider sent by General Tiberius to collect the garrison of Fort Rune," Hector improvised. He was lucky he knew the name of the nearest staging fortress to Denerim. Fort Rune was one of about twenty motte-and -bailey castles scattered around Ferelden and garrisoned with a small numbers of crown troops and from the local lord.

From what he knew of it the small castles severed two purposes: they helped protect travelers from bandits and perhaps more importantly contained stockpiles of foodstuffs and supplies for her armies when on the march. Again to his knowledge it was like the system the Orlesians and the Tevinters used to keep their armies readily supplied when moving around their territory.

The knight glared at him before finally saying warily, "The General did not tell me anything about this."

"Does he tell you everything ser?"

The knight scoffed, but eventually said, "My orders are to lock down this gate and until I hear other words this gate stays secure."

Hector frowned and barked in his harshest tone. "So you will tell Tiberius that his orders were disobeyed? You will tell the Queen her General's orders have been disobeyed?"

In any other situation Hector would have found the color the knight's face went to be comical, but it wasn't at all funny when his life was on the line. He watched as doubt and fear flickered across the man's face until he finally relented.

"Open up the gate!"

Hector watched in near disbelief as the knight ordered the gate to be opened and seconds later four men-at-arms were removing the steeling bracing bar from the gate and pulled the massive wood and iron reinforced doors in.

He thanked the knight as he spurred his horse forward, resisting the urge to force the horse into gallop as soon as he cleared the gate. Once he was out of earshot he gave a heartfelt sigh of relief. He was still alive. He had walked into the palace of perhaps the most dangerous women in Thedas, tried to kill her and managed to escape from her city. Unfortunately for him he was still a long way from the safety of the Crow's ancient fortress of Gilbran and would only feel safe once he was back behind its walls.

XXX

A single pair of footsteps echoed through the basement of the former Arl of Denerim's estate now known more simply as the keep. In times past the basement had been a system of dungeons and torture chambers where the Arls had held anyone they didn't like and worse.

Now the basement of the estate was a veritable collection of libraries full of ancient and more often than not heretic tomes, Morrigan's research laboratory and her sleeping chambers, and a fully-fledged torture chamber and prison cells for eight left over from the late Arl Howe's brief reign of terror.

Today the only occupant of her 'hospitality' was the Antivian Crow that had been captured after being wounded in her chambers. Approaching the torture chamber two men-at-arms saluted and unbolted the door. Then Cecilia pushed open the door and strode into the room.

In the center of the room hanging from the ceiling and restrained by a chains was the naked Crow assassin with a gag stuffed in his mouth. Most of his body was a bloody patchwork of incisions inflicted by the portly little man who was a self-proclaimed master torturer. While the man wasn't the torturers of ancient Tevinter Imperium, powerful and sadistic necromantic mages who could keep their subjects alive in the balance between life and death for weeks or months, he was more than competent in his arts.

The torturer bowed as she entered then placed he tools back on his table. "Your majesty I have done as you ordered."

The man had a peculiar look on his face. It wasn't every day that a torturer was ordered to torturer to simply inflict pain without seeking any information. "Very good. You are dismissed and please tell Morrigan I am ready for her."

That man was smart enough to realize something was going on beyond what he had been told and even smarter to know that he shouldn't. He was also smart enough to realize that a man in his line of work was lucky to have a patron and a steady income.

"Yes your majesty," answered bowing and quickly left.

Once the door was re-bolted Cecilia turned back to the tortured Crow with an amused glance. Crossing the distance in between them with slow purposeful strides she tore the gag from the chained assassin's mouth.

"What is your name," Cecilia asked softly.

"Raphael," he hissed weakly.

Cecilia nodded pleased. The first objective in any interrogation was to get the target talking once they talked once they were more likely to talk again. Reaching out she pulled a chair and sat down. "Raphael is a saint from Antivia… correct?"

She already knew the answer of course, but was simply making conversation. Looking at her with broken resigned eyes he nodded and finally asked, "What do you want… revenge?"

"No," she replied quite succinctly. "I want information."

"He didn't ask… me any questions."

"That is why I am here." Cecilia said before casting a meaning look at he bolted door. "He was only the opening festivities… a warning if you of what will come if you try to deceive me," she finished turning a frigid gaze on the prisoner.

Seconds after she finished the door was unbolted and in strode Morrigan. "You summon me," she intoned with her tone boarding on insolence. The witch's eyes flicked up the assassin then back down to meet the Queen's.

Reaching into a pouch on her belt she pulled out a piece of parchment and handed it Morrigan wordlessly. The witch took it and moments latter looked back up and questioned "A spell?"

The two words caused the prisoner's eyes to go wide and babble incoherently. He was only silenced when Cecilia announced. "A spell of truth only. One that will ensure that questions I asked are answered honestly. Morrigan if you please the spell is rather simple enough."

The witch looked hesitant. "This is Blood Magic…," she trailed off as she studied the incantations.

The fact that Morrigan, one of the famous Witch of the Wilds and daughter of Flemeth, was seemingly hesitant to use magic forbidden by the Chantry surprised her. There were many types of magic in the world some more powerful, and dangerous, than others.

Blood Magic unlike magic that drew on a mage's reserve of mana fed on the very essence of life itself. That made more powerful than other type but also made it more dangerous. Blood Magic tended to attract unsavory demon types from the Fade.

That was unless demons were terrified of you or your patron like they were of Cecilia. Even the darkest denizens of the Fade knew to fear her and give hers a wide a berth. After all was she not the avatar of reincarnation of one of the Old Gods.

Following the instructions of the parchment Morrigan approached the prisoner and began to paint ancient Tevinter symbols on the man in his own blood. The Crow shouted obscenities and curses as the symbols were painted not that it did him any good.

Once finished Morrigan activated the spell with a burst of magical energies and fueled by the assassins own blood. It was a very old magic that had once been used to extract answer from the enemies of the magisters and sometimes from those who were not their enemies.

"Struggling will do you no good." The Queen commented dryly when the blood seals on the man's skin began to sear their way into his flesh. Dramatically like a rising wolf she stood and made her way to the stand before the bloodied man. Reaching out she brushed the tips of her fingers along one of the seals. "Now you will answer my question for I have only one and answer them truthfully or you will suffer pain unimaginable… where exactly is the Fortress of Gilbran?"

Cecilia smiled and gave a slight shake of her head as she saw the Crow set his jaw and his eyes hardened in a defiant posture. Then she waited for the magic to work his fell enchantments to work their dread magic. As she knew they would the bloody sigils began to glow, searing not the flesh but the very soul itself. From what she understood it was a pain beyond imagining.

As such it was only a few seconds before the first pained, agonized scream fell from his lips. He tried to resist and Cecilia gave him credit for lasting as long as he did. As suddenly as the glowing had started it died down signaling that the man's resistance had broken.

"A…a map… I need a map." The assassin panted through gritted teeth seemingly no longer concerned that he was betraying the greatest secret of his order. Cecilia laid a map on the table and swiftly drew her sword and in two deft motions cut the chains binding his hands.

The ragged man dropped to his knees and studied the map with clear eyes. His eyes and face were the only part of his body, on her express orders, to remain unscathed. After several long moments he tapped an area in southern Antivia corresponding to the location were her own intelligence assets had believed it to be… that was good.

Leaning forward she licked her lips and whispered. "Tell me everything."

XXX

"General Tiberius," a familiar voice called out.

"Raymond," Ser Markus Tiberius the General of the Queen's armies answered his nominal second-in-command. For all his strength and skill at arms the general now felt his age as the sun began to peak over the eastern horizon and his body clamored for a return to his bed even as his mind told him he needed to reign steadfast. "What do you have to report?"

Even as he said it the general knew something was wrong by the expression on Ser Raymond's face. The veteran knight sighed and shifted on his feet before delivering his news. "We may have had a breach in our lines."

"How," Tiberius growled that single word in a tone that would have caused lesser men to freeze up in terror.

"A dispatch rider was allowed through Ser Ryan's posting at the Southern Gate. The rider stated he was following orders to retrieve the garrison from Rune and return to the city." The knight's face twitched. "He said he was under your direct orders."

"I gave no such orders," Tiberius snapped immediately before calming down. "Are we sure this was our man?"

Raymond shrugged. "No way to be sure general, but I've gone over the ranks and every dispatch rider amongst the guard or our own is either still in the city or out delivering orders."

"The Queen will not be pleased." Tiberius muttered and truth be told he was not pleased himself. This was the second time the assassin had escaped their grasp in one night. The first time had stung his pride but the second was a brazen insult.

"What harm can he do?"

"Depends on how smart he is," Tiberius quipped dryly before fixing the knight with a glare. "Nonetheless you can start pulling our men back to the Keep and their previous deployments. I do not know if you heard or not but Teryn Cousland will call for a landsmeet and I want our full might to be ready to gather at a moment's notice. I have already send a courier to Ostwick to ready the garrison there."

"We go to war?" Raymond said sound excited by the prospect.

"Yes," Tiberius answered darkly with a look northward. Slowly a smile crept over his aged, weather beaten face. "Yes we will."

With that Tiberius took his leave of the knight and began once more down the stone halls of the keep heading for his quarters at the top of the fortress estate's central spire. The general of course had a separate set of quarters from him at the palace when his duties demanded he stay close at hand to the Queen, but when it was not required he preferred to be here.

He reached the base of the central tower he saw the tower door open and the Queen emerge. She was dressed not in her full plate but in a rich surcoat and flowing cape bearing the her coat of arms under which she wore set of mail to protect herself.

Tiberius took notice that in one hand the Queen had clasped a rolled up, and slightly bloodstained, map and other pieces of parchment and in the other she rested on the hilt of her sword in a posture he had seen many times when she was pleased with herself.

"Your interrogation was successful?" Tiberius ventured.

"Very," she said darkly and handed him the map and parchments. "You will wish to study those in detail my general before our next steps are taken."

Tiberius nodded in thanks tucking the critical documents in the crook of his arm and began to climb the two flights of stairs to his quarters. Once having arrived in his chambers he lit a couple candles to see by and cleared his desk of his collection of maps.

First he set the parchments aside and unfurled the large map upon his great oak desk. He studied the shaking markings made in southern Antivia near the borders with the Free Marches and smiled. The Crow fortress was close to where the Queen's spies had believed it to be. Looking away from the map he picked up the first parchment and studied the looping letters of the Queen's handwriting. He felt another small smile flitter across his face. Even when jotting down the ramblings from a prisoner's interrogation the strokes of her quill her still a pristine as if she was writing a letter to the Divine herself.

As he flipped through the parchments all thoughts of sleep faded from his mind as he poured the wealth of information the Queen had extracted from the prisoners. He knew the Queen had dark arts at her command and time and again they combined with her genius and skill had triumphed and now they did once more.

XXX

It had taken less than a day for the Teyrn of Highever's call for a landsmeet to go out through the city and now late in the day the Great Hall of the Royal Palace of Ferelden was filled with the full assembly of the nobility of Ferelden. On the ground floor of the hall stood the lower ranking banns and estate lords while the balconies that rose above them to either side held the more power banns and the arls.

On her throne Cecilia Theirin the Queen of Ferelden sat in her armor. The armor she wore today was not the gilded, engraved set she wore for high occasions, but the obsidian black suit of polished dragonbone that had become her trademark. She had her sword sheathed on her belt and the royal scepter held in her right hand.

On her right flank stood her intended Prince Charles of Orlais in his Orlesian made gold trimmed plate, while on her left stood the general of her armies the aged and ruthless Ser Markus Tiberius in armor similar to hers in design, but of a less ornate fashion.

Standing at the base of the steps leading up to the dais upon which the throne of Ferelden sat Teyrn Fergus Cousland stood pacing as he delivered his speech to the assembly of noblemen and women. The Teyrn of Highver the maternal uncle to the Queen and other than his niece the most powerful noble in Ferelden stood dressed in his own plate made of the finniest silverite with the twin golden laurels of House Cousland emblazed on his surcoat.

"My fellow nobles, my fellow Fereldans this very night an outrage has been visited upon our kingdom of the order of late Teryn of Gwaren's murder of our good King Cailan at Ostagar!" The angry Cousland bellowed looking amongst the crowd about the crime visited upon his family.

While most of the current nobility were too young to remember what happened that fateful day when the crown of Ferelden and the country itself was nearly torn apart for the last half century it had stood as the symbol of treachery and deceit. It was a powerful image for any man to call upon.

As intend the remark caused shouts of agreement to ring out from the lower and upper floors. They were shouts of outrage for the act, reassurance of support for the crown and promises of vengeance upon the perpetrator.

"Aye," a deep booming voice belonging to Arl Chester of the West Hills sounded from the upper balcony where he leaned out on the railing. "The thrice-cursed Crows of Antivia have gone too far this time… to make an attempt on the life of our Queen who rules as the divine right of the Maker himself!"

As more 'ayes' sounded from the nobles Cecilia was forced to hide a smirk. She doubted she had the Maker's blessing to rule this land as if she needed the permission of some absent god. No the Maker didn't care for this world any longer her mere existence was proof of that. Turning her thoughts back outward she heard her uncle speak again.

"We cannot allow this outrage to go unanswered!" The high nobleman boomed. "We must formulate some response to these devils."

"We have an army… amongst the largest in all of Thedas. Let us use it!" A voice Cecilia could not identify by sound alone shouted somewhere from the ground floor.

Once more the Queen was forced to hide a smile, but this time it was a smile of pleasure not amusement. This was the line of thought she needed to get the landsmeet thinking on. While she preferred it to come from the lesser nobles themselves she had been more than prepared to raise the point herself if need be. Now however she could take the position of the swayed by her nobles into a war they instigated instead of being seen pushing for it herself.

Also as she had expected the suggestion of war sent the nobles into a multitude of smaller debates aligning along their political lines. Cecilia was pleased to see the most of the nobles were for a military response to the assassination attempt. In her mind she quoted the old military maxim that 'All warfare was based on deception.' She had created a deception and with that lie would push two nations into war and the face of Thedas would be forever changed.

From the upper tier Bann Renault and his supporters called for the floor. With some reluctance the Teyrn acknowledged the old noble's right to be heard. Many of the other nobles, Arl Chester lead amongst them, voiced their distaste of the elder bann for he was a well-known member of the 'old guard' and politically an opponent of the Queen.

Despite what Teyrn Cousland may have thought about the political opponent of his niece and liege lord he chastised Arl Chester for interrupted Bann Renault when he had been granted the floor. The bann thanked the Teyrn and cleared his voice.

"As you all know I may not always agree with our Queen's decisions as she leads our noble country." The bann started but was interrupted by a stream of jeers and shouts and could not continue.

A resounding thump sounded throughout the hall as she slammed the butt of her royal scepter on the floor to silence the rowdy nobles. Quickly the crowd fell silent in repsect to their Queen's call. Without standing Cecilia said in reproach. "Let the man speak. Every noble in Ferelden as the right to make his voice heard at the landsmeet. To disrespect this right is to disrespect the Crown and all our history."

Renault bowed from his position and started once more. "As you all know I may not always agree with our Queen's decisions as she leads our noble country, but I have nothing but respect for her and the crown. She is a direct descendent of King Calenhad who forged our nation from a collection of warring, fractured Teynirs and of the most noble house of Cousland who have long and faithfully served the kingdom."

The bann paused before delivering the last of his speech that shocked the fellow members of the 'old guard' and amazed the Queen's supporters. "Any assault upon her is a direct challenge to the sovereignty of Ferelden and should not be allowed to go unpunished. Therefore I as Bann of the Dragon's Peak put forth that the Army of Ferelden should be assembled and the Antivians should be reminded of their place."

The landsmeet fell shocked into silence before the first clap rang out. The first clap was followed by more and more and more until the whole of the hall was filled with the thunderous sound. Even the members of the 'old guard' were forced into grudging agreement to save face in face of such overwhelming support for war.

The clapping when on for several long minutes before Cecilia knocked the butt of her scepter against the floor once more. This time she stood and despite the ice in her blood and an Old God for a soul felt a chill descend down her spine. When the roar of the group died down Cecilia issued the command she'd been waiting for several long months now.

"Assemble the Army!"


	6. Chapter 5

**The Dragon Queen: Beginnings **

Chapter 5: The Dragon Awakes

The great coastal city of Amaranthine, once the domain of the treacherous Arl Howe, now served as the assembly area for the whole of the army of Ferelden. From her perch in the gate house overlooking the main road into the city, Cecilia watched with satisfaction as soldiers belonging to Arl Chester marched into their predestinated assembly area on the great plain that stretched out before the city. The arrival of the Arl's army signaled that the last of Ferelden's high nobility had answered the summons to war.

On the rolling plain that stretched out before the city a small city in its own right of tents that would shelter the army until they set sail out for Fereldan controlled Ostwick. From their beachhead in the Free Marches they would sweep north into Antiva across the plains of Weyrs and lay siege to the capital city. Unlike the rest of Thedas, Antiva possessed no standing army or significant military force. Apart from the Royal Constabulary, which policed Antiva City, and a patchwork collections of city guards which were enough to protect their cities from bandits and brigands the country was without military protection.

To defend themselves the monarchs of Antiva had for centuries relied upon the dark prowess of the Crows to protect them, not by physical victories on the battlefield, but through the knowledge that any leader to march on Antiva would never live to enjoy their victory.

Or so they assumed, Cecilia smiled darky as she took in stock of her army. As her army swept through the country she would take the Sovereign's Own and destroy Gilbran completely and utterly, but not before seize their archives. There was knowledge within those musty old tombs and that knowledge she needed.

"Your majesty," Tiberius's voice echoed from behind her. "The Council of War has been assembled and is awaiting your presence." He paused and glanced about before turning back and whispering in a low voice continued, "Everything is prepared my Queen and Morrigan reports that the ritual is ready."

"Very good," Cecilia nearly cooed as she straightened up and spun in her heel to head back inside and with Tiberius on her heels made her way down the winding spiral staircase of the gatehouse. Inside the main gate of Amaranthine waited an honor guard of six fully armored knights, their dragon banners fluttering ready to escort her to the Bann of Amaranthine's estate.

Under the rule of the elderly Bann Orwell Amaranthine was perhaps the richest city in Ferelden and unquestionably loyal to his Queen. He'd been giving stewardship of Amaranthine after the last Banness had been killed on the late Queen Elissa orders as part of a purge of the nobility which had foolishly chosen to support the treacherous Teyrn Loghain and Arl Howe during Ferelden's brief civil war.

It was a quick ride through the city to reach the estate from which hung not the banners of the Bann of Amaranthine, but those of the crown. Likewise it was not the Bann's men which guarded the opulent estate but hers.

Dismounting her steed she and her knights turned them over to the stable boys who quickly made themselves scarce. The Bann and his wife bowed low at the waste and offered the customary pleasantries. The Queen acknowledged them with a nod and polite words as she allowed the Bann to lead her and Tiberius once more into his home.

His wife, a chatty and incessant little creature, attempted to make 'polite' conversation. The Queen humored her with short sometimes monosyllabic answers, never disrespectful but simply quaint.

When they arrived at what had been the Bann's all but had been converted into her war room for the short time her army would be encamped on the plains of Amaranthine. Striding forward released to be free of incessant drabble of the Bann's wife she set her palms against the strong oak doors and shoved.

The solid doors swung upon to reveal a vast chamber filled with the banners of the various noble houses who had gathered for this grand campaign. The chamber was decorated in a manner that resembled the Great Hall in Ferelden. At the end of the great table sat a steel, silk covered chair from which she could sit over and watch her nobles as they planned the invasion of Antiva. Or perhaps more correctly listened as Tiberius outlined the stratagem that he and she had spent long hours developing.

The sound of the door being flung open on his hinges sent the nobles who were sitting in their seats and those few who were quarrelling with one another over old feuds that the nobility never seemed to forget fell silent at the sight of their monarch to their feet.

Fergus Cousland, Cecilia's maternal uncle, the Teyrn of Highever and second most powerful figure in the realm after the crown itself, stepped forward with a warm smile on his face even in this dawn before war. Approaching her he bowed his head in acknowledgement, "Your Majesty/."

"Uncle," she said with a small smile touching her lips, "I'm pleased to see you. You made excellent time from Highever."

Her uncles friendly face darkened and for a second Cecilia saw what the last of the Howes must of saw before their deaths. "They attack our family Cecilia; they must be made to pay."

"And so they shall… a thousand fold," she promised as she turned from her uncle and addressed the other nobles assembled. "My lords and ladies of Ferelden I thank for your promptly and timely answer to my summoning. Truly such a grand host the likes of this as never before been seen in all of the Thedas."

It was a lie and she knew that even before the words past her lips. It was a formidable force some fifty thousand strong, seven times the force her mother had brought to fight the archdemon and twice as big as the army King Calian lost at Ostagar. This army she had assembled here at Amaranthine contained close to ten thousand knights, three times that in footman and men-at-arms and another thousand bowmen including a core of mounted elven archers.

Like so many other elements of the kingdom she had inherited the idea had be one of her mother. The late Queen Elissa after witnessing the skill of the elven archers in the battle of Denerim had decided the keen eyes and natural affinity of the elven people for archery could be put to use to serve the kingdom. So a small band of elves from the alienages of Denerim and Highever had been trained to fight in the traditional Dalish style of mounted archery.

While it wasn't as powerful nor as bone rattling as a knightly charge or a moving wall of men-at -arms with swords and spears held ready the presence of mounted archers could alter the pace of battle. It was a lesson both the armies of the Tevinter Imperium and of Orlais had learned well in their respective wars with the elves.

The heavy and slow legionaries of the Tevinter had more often than not found themselves being ground to pieces by a constant stream of arrows, unable to chase down their attackers. The Orlesian had faced the same problem with their knights. The elves would use their horse archers to lure the heavy Orlesian horsemen away from their lines and goad them into making a fool hardy charge. Once the horse was exhausted the elves would swamp them with light cavalry and footmen.

Making her way through them she took her seat at the head of the table with Teryn Cousland seated at her right and her betrothed, Prince Charles of Orlais, at her left. Once she was seated upon the silken chair the assembly sat according to their ranks. Once they were seated Cecilia announced, "In three days we set sail from Amaranthine for Ostwick and from there we shall march northward along the Merchant's Road on the coast, capturing Caen and Barcelona to use them as a base of supply before we set out for Antivia City proper."

The lords talked amongst themselves and to the Queen's internal delight most of them looked excited at the prospect. Both of the southern Ativan cities were wealthy and their capture would greatly enrich the victorious armies and perhaps more importantly the Bann or the Arl the Queen would leave behind to govern the city in her name would become rich beyond what was possible in Ferelden.

Antiva City itself was a jewel of a city, rich prosperous and controlled a great trading fleet and yet for all that wealth it relied solely on sellswords and the Crows for protection. It was a mistake they would regret when her armies besieged the ancient city.

Arl Chester of the West Hills stood from his position at the table. The rough Arl who was tasked with protecting Ferelden's eastern flank asked, "And what is the position of Orlais in all this?"

Cecilia let her eyes drift down to where Prince Charles sat in his splendid glided armor. The Prince had already informed her of his royal mother's, the Empress Celene, stance on the manner. With a nod she gave the Prince permission to answer the question.

The Orlesian rose, "The position of Orlais is one of support for our new allies. The attack on your Queen… my betrothed," he paused letting the statement sink in, "went too far. It is far past time our northern neighbors were taught a lesson on manners and respect." The Prince paused again and cleared his throat, "That said the Empress wished me to rely that she will not be able to assist you in this campaign. As you know Nevarra has been acting out again the Qunari have begun a fresh assault on the Imperium. The armies of Orlais are need to defend the empire should war break out in the north."

"It's not like we need them anyway," one of the southern lords, Bann Lorien III of the rebuilt town of Lothering said snidely. The remark was echoed amongst the lords. Most were not too fond of Orlais and with good reason.

"You have brought some men with you," Lord Renault said wily with a flick of his eyes out the window, "Unless my old eyes deceive me I have seen the banners of the _de Gendarmerie de l'Impératrice._" The old lord's lip twisted and his eyes got that far of looking of being lost in a memory. "It is hardly something one forgets."

Cecilia glanced at the Prince to see his response. Charles to his credit kept his calm. "Yes I have brought my own men, some twenty knights and their squires."

The old Bann had been of course speaking of the battle of the White River during the Rebellions. If was one of the rebel's worst defeats and the only time the _de Gendarmerie de l'Impératrice _had taken the field before being summoned back to Val Royeauex after the Emperor Florian and his cousin had an argument. Still in that single battle the most elite of all the Chevaliers had almost crushed the Fereldan's chance to regain their independent.

"Let us forget old battles long since passed," Cecilia intervened once more playing the role of peacemaker. It was a subtle game she played amongst the nobles to keep them wary and in opposition to one another, but reliant upon her. "We have a new enemy to fight and need our unity."

"Here, here," Arl Tegan said with a series of claps as he stood. "We have a common foe and let us focus on that."

It was a call and clap that was echoed throughout the hall. It was one thing that the myriad of nobility could agree on. The Antivans had dealt a grave insult to their pride when they tried to murderer their queen in cold blood. And an insult to their pride was something they couldn't stomach.

XXX

Bone tired, cold, starved and with at the very least two broken bones Hector stumbled up along the narrow mountain road which led to the Antivan Crows secret fortress of Gilbran. Wrapping the stolen cloak tight around his shoulders he trudged forward through the snow which also accumulated at these heights.

It had taken him almost a month to make his way from Denerim across the Waking Sea and from the Free March city of Kirkwall back into Antiva and to the Crow's ancient stronghold. He'd been forced to steal, stowaway and in one unfortunate occasion murder to make his way home. Now that he was home or at least the closest thing he'd ever consider to home he felt a stirring of fear pool in his stomach.

The Antivan Crows were not known to be merciful to those who had failed them. Hector had briefly considered slipping away and melding into the peasantry. Surely he could hide amongst the innumerous commoners, traders, sailors, sell-swords and merchants in the Free Marchs.

No, in the end he decided that it was his responsibility to report back to the Crows that they had been set up; that the Queen of Ferelden had somehow known they were coming. He hoped it would be enough to earn him some levity. If not he hoped at the very least they would be quick.

A twig snapped to the right of him and Hector spun reflexively, his hand dropping to his side where his stolen longsword hung from his belt. As quickly as his hand wrapped around the handle he let go as he saw three Crows in white hooded cloaks and leather armor with bows out, arrows notched and the string pulled tight.

"Identify yourself now!" A harsh voice sounded from one of the bowmen.

Slowly Hector raised his hands. These men were Crows, but not the Crows most people thought of when they gave the order mind. These men were trained not as assassins but in the arts of woodcraft and archery. Their purpose was to prowl the grounds around the mountain and protect the castle from those who were a little to nosy for their own good.

It was rare for the assassins and the 'rangers' as they were called to mix and intermingle. Hector, however, had on more than one occasion taken time to get to know them and now it seemed to be paying off.

"Cicero," he called out to one of the rangers whose voice he thought he recognized, "Cicero is that you?"

Slowly the ranger who had barked at him lowered his bow, "Hector," he questioned, "Hector by Andraste I heard you were dead."

A slight laugh passed uneasily through his lips, "I thought I was too for a moment." The laugh died from his lips as he sobered up and remembered his failure and the deaths of his comrades, "I need to talk to the Old Man… its important."

XXX

"Stay here," she ordered the knights Ser Raymond and Edward. The two knights obeyed without a sound and took up the positions alongside the two men-at-arms who were guarding the door. Pushing on the door it swung open and she walked through.

This room had been a rather opulent guest room, but upon her arrival Cecilia had turned it into a laboratory for Morrigan to work in. The desk was covered in books that they had packaged up and brought with them from Denerim; texts and tomes that were critical to the Queens plans.

Letting her eyes sweep over the clutter of the room Cecilia asked dryly, "Are you all set to move. The army sets sail for Ostwick in two days and I need the ritual before we leave the Marches."

The witch stood from behind the desk and moved towards a large crate that was filled with vials of dark dragon's blood and other ingredients that were necessary for the dragon summoning ritual. Cecilia had made the connection with the beast back at Andraste's tomb and now all that was required was to call the dragon from across the Fade and unleash it upon her enemies.

"You have a question," Cecilia asked as she thumbed through the crate making sure everything was in order and present. It wouldn't do for her to get to Ostwick and discover something was missing. Feeling satisfied she moved over to the desk and picked up a particularly old leather bound book.

Morrigan regarded the Queen with those sulfurous yellow eyes of hers. "I am not so foolish as to believe that this is the extent of your plans," she said slowly. She glanced around at the collected tomes, "I doubt your vision is limited to something as simple as mere conquest…, but for the life of me I cannot figure what."

Wordlessly she flipped open the first page and saw the words "_Magical Artifacts of the Imperium,_" scrolled out in large looping letters and written in the tongue of the Orlesian Empire. Holding the book up in the air she asked and then placed it back down on the table, "Have you taken a look at this one yet?"

Warily like a prey animal before a predator Morrigan moved towards the book. Carefully like she was handling pure unrefined lyrim the witch picked up the text and regarded the Queen with a confused stare.

With a cold smile the Queen said, "Look for the Tear of Dumat. I believe you will find it most interesting."

Cecilia watched as Morrigan flipped through the pages of the ancient tome as she searched for the object the Queen had mentioned. Suddenly the witch stopped and Cecilia knew that Morrigan had found the text about the Tear of Dumat.

"Read it aloud," the Queen prodded.

Morrigan looked up at her for a second before looking back down and cleared her throat. "_The Tear of Dumat was a powerful magical artifact allegedly gifted by to the Old God Dumat to the Archon Corypheus. The Tear was said to be the crystalized blood of the great dragon itself. The Tear was said to grant the worthy magister who possessed it great powers beyond the abilities one could normally possess. The true nature of Dumat's Tear is unknown to all but the magisters themselves but it allegedly allowed them to navigate the Fade with pinpoint accuracy and allowed the magisters to launch their assault upon…" _Morrigan paused jaw slack and wide eyed as she stared at the queen, "… _upon the Maker's golden throne. The Tear was last seen in the city of Neromenian while preparing to transport it to the capital of Minrathous when the city fell to Orlesian marchers in the Fourth Exalted March. However the Tear never made it back to Val Royeaux and would change hands many times before finally disappearing in the Sixth Exalted March and has yet to reappear."_

Slowly she set the book down on the table from which she procured it. "So that's your plan… to recreate the spell of the magister to enter the golden city? Besides even if you wanted too how would you even find it?"

"The Tear is in the treasure vault of the Royal Palace Antiva City unbeknownst to even the royal family itself," she shrugged, "How it got there is a mystery, but I know it is there."

"How?"

"It is a piece of my brother Dumat," Cecilia said as if that explained it all and in a way it did. The Old Gods were beyond simple flesh and blood, they were more than the mere dragons they appeared to be and none living knew their secrets.

"So what is the plan," Morrigan asked more harshly then normally Cecilia would allow, but she let it pass for the moment.

"Vengeance… same as it always has been," she said her voice eerily cold, "With the Tear of Dumat I am one step closer to my revenge… now make sure you are ready to go." As the Queen of Ferelden took her leave the witch swore she would be ready.

Two days later the Army of Ferelden left its encampment around Amaranthine and boarded the fleet that had been built and or pulled in from all around the kingdom to support her grand army. It took nearly a day to load all the troops, weapons, armor, horses and supplies for the army. Once ready the mighty Ferelden fleet set sail for the city of Ostwick and for the first time since the Alamarri barbarian horde of Maferath and Andraste crossed the Waking Sea to take their holy war to the Tevinter Imperium an army of Ferelden left its own borders.

XXX

On the bow of the Queen's flagship, _Resilient_ according to engraving on the ships stern, Prince Charles of Orlais stood trying desperately not to lose his midday meal. It would be unseemly for the Queen's betrothed and a Prince to be sick.

While Orlais was the premier military power on the continent with a powerful navy based on from it port cities on the Waking Sea Charles had never before taken to the water on anything larger on one of the royal yachts on a small lake.

The galley rocked as it mounted a wave ad Charles squeezed his eyes shut to fight nausea that swept over him. Placing his hands on the rail for balance he leaned over the rail just as a particularly violent feeling rolled over him.

"I know just how you feel," the dry voice of Queen Cecilia's chief henchman and the general of her armies sounded from behind him. The general took a position next to him on the railing and gazed out over the crowing waves.

The Waking Sea was never a calm body of water unlike the Amarthine Ocean which was known to be eerily calm year round. The Waking Sea was rough and treacherous like an unbroken stallion and wouldn't hesitate to claim the lives of any sailor who underestimated her wrath. Fortunately the Queen's sailors were experience and drawn not only from Ferelden's merchant fleet but from privateers, free merchants an even what he assumed were pirates.

"Ever since king Maric perished at on the Waking when I was just a squire I have always hated travelling by sea," Tiberius admitted with a slight chuckle, "I am afraid I have never quite gotten my sea legs and am afraid I never will."

"My people are no great sailors either. It has been a long time since the Empire of Orlais had taken to the sea in great force. I am finding very little pleasure in this voyage," Charles said with a slight smile to let the general he was in humor.

"I grow eager to set foot on dry land again Prince Charles," Tiberius said and if his words were magic the shout of 'land hoy' echoed across the ship and then slowly throughout the fleet.

Charles lifted his head and intently eyed the horizon and just about when he spotted the rising stone shape of what was unmistakably a white lighthouse rising from a jetty emerging from the coastline. As the ships moved closer the white stonewalls of Ostwick's Seawall became visible and then the rising white structure that could only be Ostwick's keep. He had heard about it before, but never seen it before. Ostwick's famous white cliffs were well known and made the walls and city that was constructed from that stone an unmistakable sight to behold.

"I remember the first time I saw those cliffs," Tiberius said softly, "its impressive and far more charming than Kirkwall."

Charles let out a sliver of a chuckle. Kirkwall's black cliffs and fearsome gargoyles was enough to send shivers down any man's spine… just as it was intended too. The ancient Tevinter city had once been the hub of the slave trade in the south and still bore the scars of its dark past.

"Plus Ostwick's mine," a female voice one that could only belong to the Queen.

Charles spun and saw his betrothed standing before him in her full battle regalia, helm tucked under her arm and her hand resting on the pommel of her longsword. The Queen of Ferelden was flanked by a pair of knights whose name's escaped him and her dwarven comrade, Dakrak.

"Your majesty," the Prince said with a bow.

"My Prince," she returned with a courteous head nod, "The captain of the _Resilient_ reports that we will be docking within the next few hours; as soon as the tides always us to make land in the harbor."

"It will be a welcome relief to set foot upon solid ground again," Charles intoned, "I am afraid I am not built for seafaring."

She gave him a smile that sent shivers down his spine and to other… parts. He wasn't sure what it was about her. She was a beautiful woman that was beyond a doubt, but there was something else for sure. He'd seen the loyalty Tiberius, her knights and the others gave to her and it was beyond that of a subject for their liege lord. There was something that drew you towards her. He could already feel it tugging on the strings of his heart.

"Ostwick is quite a sight to behold," Cecilia continued resting her arms on the railing, "after all it is an ancient city older than both our great nations. It is quite a city though of course I prefer my Denerim."

"And I my Val Royeaux," Charles said in fond remembrance of the glorious and sometimes gaudy imperial city.

XXX

The unloading of the fleet took no longer than expected, but to Cecilia it seemed to take forever. Years of planning had resulted in these first steps toward a millennia long quest for vengeance. From the Marquis's keep she could watch the knights and men-at-arms of the Sovereign's Own stream off their boats in perfect rank and file their banners fluttering in the ocean breeze.

Behind them in the in the harbor sat hundreds of ships all waiting to dock and unload their precious cargo. There were so many ships in the harbor that one could hardly see the greenish brown water below them.

On the docks a small armor of laborers and dockworkers waited to unload the war-equipment from the transports and to load up the foodstuffs and supplies that would maintain the army from the sea as they marched on Antiva.

"I trust everything is in order my Queen," the Marquis of Ostwick, John de Montfort the middle age ruler of Ostwick who Cecilia had put into power.

To his right was his 'shadow' a knight belonging to the Sovereign's Own named Ser Heinrich. The knight's public purpose was the protection of the Marquis's person, but like the rest of the garrison of his Order station here his true purpose was to make sure the Marquis would do as the she commanded. She had hand-picked Heinrich for this position because of the man's utter lack of moral conscience.

"Is your army prepared to join us on our march," Cecilia asked the nobleman.

The ruler of Ostwick was smart enough to realize that his rule and perhaps more importantly his life was tied to her reign. She had put him on his throne and in the process he'd made plenty of enemies in the Free Marches and amongst his own people. He had every reason to make sure that she stayed him power and stayed his protector.

"My army is ready," he stated firmly, "And the dockmaster reports that your army will be fully ashore by midday tomorrow."

"Good," Cecilia said with a satisfied nod. The army of Ostwick would be a fine addition to her army even though it was only about a three thousand strong and despite John de Montfort's Orlesian heritage the army fought in the style of the city-states of the Free Marches.

This meant his army would be mostly heavy infantry incased in plate called hoplites who weld a large circular shields and a long pike. They fought in tight formation of overlapping shields with their pikes presented as so to make a veritable wall of spikes.

The rest of the soldiers would be either archers or light horse meant to harass the enemy before and chase down the routing survivors after the main body of infantry had engaged. It was a powerful, but inflexible formation and that had often been its downfall.

"Then you shall have the honor of being my vanguard as you know the way north," Cecilia said fixing de Montfort with a strong gaze.

The vanguard was the lead position at the head of any marching column. It was a position of great honor, normally reserved for the most trusted noble, but in this case she made an exception and she doubted her uncle would mind. A position in front of the rest of her army would make it harder for de Montfort to try anything. Cecilia doubted the Marquis would but she hadn't gotten this far by leaving things to the whims of fate.

Whether or not John de Montfort realized just why he was being given such an honor Cecilia could not tell. Nonetheless the ruler of Ostwick dropped to a knee. "It will be an honor my Queen to bear your banner at the head of this army."

Cecilia nodded and turned back to face the harbor, "Your loyalty to the crown does me honor Marquis de Montfort. Now you must make ready for we march north as soon as all preparations are made ready."

"Yes my Queen," he said as he bowed low and took his leave with Ser Heinrich in tow.

Once they were clear Cecilia called for Tiberius who was waiting in the shadows with the dwarf at his side. Tiberius wore his midnight black armor with his great horned helm cradled underneath his left arm as he watched the Marquis go like a great wolf watching its prey.

"My liege," the dwarf said with the head of his great axe resting on the stone floor. "You summon?"

"Yes I did. Dakrak I want you to assume command of the keep's guard in my name," she ordered not tearing her gaze from the fleet, "no one in all of Thedas could have missed our landing here and the Crows might have a surprise planned for us."

"If I do I shall be ready," the dwarf swore. "Any assassin foolish enough to make another attempt on your life will die before breeching the keeps walls."

"Don't worry about the walls, the Marquis men can man them," she stated deadpan, "use our own to patrol the interior and our quarters. Your job is to protect the other nobles in addition to myself. If the Crows are the least bit intelligent and I know that they are they shall realize that assassinating my nobles may be just as effective as killing me. If I cannot protect them then the moral of my army may crumble."

"I agree though with the lords all together it will make them easier to protect," Tiberius added, "they won't admit it but most of them are fearful. The Crows have protected Antiva for almost two hundred years now. Many a lord has been in their cups one moment only to be spitting up blood the next or have gone to bed and woken up with their throats cut."

"That's why you must be on your guard… both of you. We leave as soon as we are ready and then the Crows will burn," a cold smile touched the corner of her lips, "in a way more literal than they can image."

XXX

Hector was aware of the echo of boots on the cold hard stones of Gilbran long before he saw the torch light or heard the first ranger shout, "On your feet!"

Rolling over on his straw stuffed cot and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. Carefully and slowly Hector raised his hands in a nonthreatening manner as he rose from the bed. In the same careful manner Hector backed away from the iron bars.

Hector apprised the men with an experienced eye. Four cloaked men in white cloaks with red trim stood with short swords strapped to their side and cold looks in their eyes. These men belonged to the old man's private army within the Crows and would do his bidding… in house or not.

The lead man gave a shout the short portly jailer appeared with a ring of keys. Despite the fact that the all the keys looked the same to Hector the jailer seemed to know exactly which one opened which door and inserted said bronze key in the lock. The clank of the tumbling turning over was the loudest song he had ever heard in his life.

For all he knew if could be the White Cloaks coming to take him to his execution or they might not even given him that and stab in to death in the cell and toss his body down the mountain side for the wolves and mountain lions to scavenge.

"The old man wants to see you," the leader of the White Cloaks growled in a low tone, his face hidden behind a cloth mask that left only his hard brown eyes visible.

Despite his best efforts the Crow felt his shoulder's sag in relief. If the Old Man of the Mountain, the Master of the Crows of Antvia wanted to see him it meant that his death was not yet upon him and he'd get to live a little longer.

The White Cloaks led him through the halls of the fortress of Gilbran. The mountain headquarters of the most feared guild of assassins in the land was never a cheerful place, but it had always been home. Now it was darker than before and these halls no longer gave him the comfort they had in the past they were his cell and more than likely would be his tomb.

Eventually he was led to the entrance to the Old Man's lavish quarters. Today however he counted no less than twelve White Cloaks in plain sight and who knew how many more hid in the expansive chamber hidden by the shadows?

He was brought past the guard and into the rich chambers that he had stood in not two months ago. That fact caused his head to spin. Less than two months ago he had stood to gain great fame and prestige within the brotherhood with the assassination of Cecilia Theirin. It had been some time since a King or Queen had fallen to Antvian blades; not since when Queen Sansa of Antiva had been found impaled upon four steel swords to mark the beginning of the Age of Steel. Now he was a condemned prisoner amongst his own brothers.

"My boy," the Old Man of the Mountains said his voice low and gravelly.

"Master," Hector responded.

"The failure of you and your brother and sister is far greater than you could ever possibly realize," the Old Man said sounding like and old man and not the feared leader of the Crows.

During Hector's first report the Master of the Crows had sat patiently listening as he told his tale and only interrupting to inquire of more details on particular events. When Hector had finished the old man had rebuked him for failing him, his brothers and sister and the order he served. Hector wondered what could be worse than the stain upon the honor of the Crows. Fortunately the Old Man didn't take long to answer.

"Cecilia Theirin has crossed the Waking Sea with a great host of some sixty thousands swords, lances, bows and spears. She's encamped right now at Ostwick and the Marquis's men have joined their might with hers. Even now the Ferelden barbarians stand ready to march north and cut a bloody swathe across the country."

Hector blinked… and then blinked again. Assassinations amongst the nobility in Antiva, the Free Marches, Tevinter and in Orlais were so numerous that they were considered commonplace. In fact a man would be hard pressed to find a man in high office who had not arrange for the 'timely death' of at least one of their rivals at one point or another.

A failed attack in those realms would produce a call for vengeance, but not on this scale and it would be against the one who ordered the attack and not the hand that carried it out. It was a game of thrust and parry, attack and retaliation that assassins had played for centuries and grown very rich from. The Ferelden Queen was in a way doing the same, but on an unprecedented scale.

"King Castleen has sent an envoy to meet with Cecilia and see if some truce can be forged," the Old Man's lip twitched, "no doubt he'll offer her a king's ransom in gold, two or three kings perhaps."

A chill settled in Hector's stomach, "She won't accept. Her pride's been wounded and her country's honor demands blood in payment."

For the first time since Hector had returned in failure to Gilbran he saw the Master of the Crows smile, "Yes I believe you are correct which is why hidden amongst the envoys guards is a group of your brothers. We took the vow to kill the Queen of Ferelden and so we shall. When her corpse falls lifeless her army will disperse as the greater lords seek to secure the empty throne."

As the master said it Hector had to agree that this was the best of a very bad situation and the Crows had their own honor to uphold. "What of the original contract. We need to know who wanted her dead, then perhaps we can sate her bloodlust."

The Old Man nodded, "That too has occurred to me and I have dispatched agents to inquire of it. When they send word the search shall begin." He fixed Hector with a sharp and deep stare, "I will be sending you alone to track this man down. Not in the name of the Crows for you will no longer be a brother until you succeed in bringing the man before me. Our brotherhood cannot be seen as hunting down one of our clients… its bad for business."

Numbly Hector nodded. The Crows were vast especially in Antiva and had a network that an assassin could rely upon for all manners of things from food to weapons to gold. Without that he would be crippled in his assignment. Gritting his teeth he knew he had no choice. If he ran he knew the Old Man would never rest till his head decorated a spike on Gilbran's walls.

"I shall not fail you again master," Hector promised as sincerely as he was able.

"See that you do not."

XXX

It was the eve of the second day sent the Queen's Army had set out from Ostwick along the Merchant's Road. When the sun had waned in the sky the army had stopped to make camp with its great back to the sea to more easily bring in supplies and to more easily protect against infiltration. Now campfires covered the beaches as men-at-arms, spearmen, archers and knights sat to tell stories of past deeds and boast of future glories.

Around the edges of the camps innumerable pickets with mabari war hounds prowled searching for intruders, spies and assassins while a few of the younger lords took their equally young and unblooded knights on hunts searching for fresh game.

At the far rear of the camp closest to the water and the ships was the great black tent of the Royal Pavilion emblazoned with the sigil of the red dragon. Next to her was and equally black tent with a smaller dragon of the side for Tiberius and around those two were smaller black tents for the knights of the Soverign's Own.

Beyond those were the tents of her Uncle and his vassals and of Prince Charles of Orlais. The tents radiated out from the center like the spokes of a wagon wheel until at the very outside were the camps of the commoners and baseborn soldiers.

Inside her tent Cecilia sat at a great oak desk studying a map. She still wore a obsidian black plate armor that she was famous for and her dragon surcoat. Her sword and shield lay resting on her armor rack no less than an arm's reach away. Though even she was in the center of her great host she still kept her long silverite dagger on her belt. They were in the Crow's country now and compliancy would get you killed.

From outside the flap of her tent one of her guards shouted a challenge only for it to turn quickly into a stuttering apology as General Markus Tiberius pushed back the flap of her tent came inside. The elder knight was too in his full battle array with his great bastard sword slung across his back. On his head he war his horned great helm and on his back was a black wool cloak with her bloody red sigil upon it.

"Your Majesty one of the hunting parties Ser Lorne of Dragon's Peak had returned."

Cocking her eyebrow she looked up at the knight, "Is that all," she questioned knowing Tiberus wouldn't interrupt her for something as trivial as a lordling's return.

"Upon their way back they happened upon an envoy and his guard riding down the Merchant's Road," Tiberius said from behind his helm, "The envoy and a hundred of Antiva City's Royal Constabulary await you at your leisure."

As he was speaking Cecilia stood retrieved her sword and tide the scabbard to her belt. Leaving her shield and her own great helm she turned back to Tiberius, "So many guards," she inquired.

Though his face was hidden she knew that he was smiling, "The envoy is a Prince Leon the second-son of King Castlen of Antiva. Come no doubt to plead their innocence before you."

"Watch them carefully," Cecilia warned even though it was unnecessary, "but if some slips away do not stop them."

Tiberius was silent for a second, "You want the Prince to hang himself and betray parlay?"

Pleased that he had caught no she nodded as she sweep up her black and red sable cap and fastened it to her shoulders, "We are in Antiva , Crows are very and those sellswords," she said with a tilt of her head referring to the Royal Constabulary, "have little more honor than them."

Striding out of the tent with Tiberius on her right she was joined by three more of her knights, Ser Edward, Raymond and Robert, the ones who had made the journey to the Frostback Mountains with her and her faithful dwarf Dakrak.

When she reached the center of the camp she saw the Antivan Royal and his guard. They had dismounted and were surrounded by men of the Sovereign's Own and by men of bearing the golden laurels of Highever. The guard wore armor made of leather and mail with long red cloaks and their faces covered by halfhelms. Her uncle Fergus stood next to the Prince his towering scowling mass dwarfing the small prince.

Cecilia stopped and regarded the prince who stood across from her. He wore richly silken robes with golden chains draped around his neck and high black leather riding boots. He wore no armor that she could see, but a thin steel rapier at his side; a dueling weapon and one that would prove unsuitable against knights in full plate.

The prince bowed politely before standing and beginning in passable Ferelden, "Cecilia Theirin Queen of Ferelden-"

"And soon to be Antiva too," a shout rose up from one of her knights or Highever's she wasn't quite sure but nonetheless it brought a quick smile to her face and a burst of laughter from the knights.

"Perhaps there is somewhere we talk in private your grace," the prince said a slight tremor in his voice. His men looked uneasy as well by their stances and who would blame them. They were in the center of her strength surrounded and no doubt considered Fereldan's little more than barbarians and they knew if the Queen so commanded they would never again see their homes.

"Of course," she said courteous playing the game, "my tent. Two of your men and two of mine," she lifted her gaze from the prince and signaled Tiberius in his fearsome armor and Dakrak in his dwarven plate and massive axe. "Uncle would you see are guest our fed. They must have had a long journey."

Her uncle acknowledged her request even though he rather looked like he was of the mind to send the Antivaan packing. With one hand on his broadsword he

The Prince selected the biggest two of his guards but next to Tiberius and Dakrak they looked quite pathetic. As they walked towards the tent the Prince started, "Now about this assassination business."

XXX

The lesser light of night was high in the sky by the time Prince Charles and his Chevaliers returned from their patrol. He had offered his services to his betrothed and taken his party northward searching for any sign of ambushes.

The Orlesian party passed through the picket lines without too much of a hassle. It was obvious that most of the Fereldan's bore no love for him or his men. As he rode through the camp he notice a great many men in red cloaks that he didn't recognize.

"Who are those men," Charles called from his horse to a servant who was no doubt carrying some lord's provisions or laundry.

"Men from Antiva," the servant called adding 'my prince' only as an afterthought.

"They have come to treat with the Queen?"

"More like come to beg like a dog and lick her…," the boy trailed off in his crude joke as he who he remembered just who he was talking too. There was only one Orlesian of note in the army and that was the Queen's betrothed. "Yes my prince they have. The led one a prince or something is talking with the Queen in her tent."

Charles waved the man away and considered what he had been told. He doubted Cecilia would or could be persuade to leave. She had assembled all the lords of her nation and crossed a sea to take her vengeance on her would be assassins. He didn't believe that anything short of the whole of Antiva bending knee at her feet would sate her vengeance.

Dismissing his men back to their camps Charles led his mount towards the Queen's encampment. He was intercept about a dozen or so yards away from the outlying tents of the Sovergien's Own by a pair of armored men-at-arms with long spears. They didn't stop to question him; in his plate Prince Charles of Orlais was unmistakable. In a smooth movement perfect by years of practice he swung his leg over and dropped from his mount to the ground.

Without challenge they let him stride past towards the Queen's tent. Every once in a while a knight, his squire or man-at-arms would look up at the intruder in their midst before returning to eating, sharping their sword with a wet stone or polishing their midnight black armor. When Charles reached the Queen's tent she was the bloody "Bastard" Tiberius in his midnight black armor and greatsword and the black armored dwarf with his great axe stood at the entrance.

He removed his helm and was about to announce himself when the "Bastard" held up a gauntleted hand. Charles frowned and opened his mouth to speak when the knight cupped his hand beside his armored head where his ear would have been. Charles took a half step forward and titled his head so better to hear.

Sure enough he could hear a voice speaking in accented Ferelden. "Queen Cecilia please believe my father had nothing to with this whole horrid affair. There are other who would wish to see your country harmed… Orlais perhaps. By chance this whole affair might be a farce to lure out your armies while the Orlesians plan to recover their lost province."

When the Antivan had finished the dwarf motioned him to go in and he did just that pushing back the tent flap and entered. The Queen was sitting on the opposite side of the large table with her back towards the wall so she could see whoever entered. She glanced up with the ice blue eyes of hers and a smile slid across her beautiful face, "My love," she called out, "welcome back."

The Antivan Prince turned and blanched when he saw the Orlesian Prince. He opened his mouth but closed it again gapping like a fish removed from water. Charles smiled a wolfish smile and across the tend to kiss the Queen's hand. It was a good act, but at the same time it made him wary. Cecilia was far more adept at this game that he had first given her credit for.

The poor Antivan turned back to the Queen struggling to find his words when a great commotion arose from outside the tents. Charles glanced at Cecilia but her face was schooled and her thoughts were hidden behind her impassive mask.

"What's the meaning of this," Prince Leon shouted regaining his wits and tongue.

"We shall see," Cecilia stated as she pulled herself up from the table and they all exited the tent together. Outside three of the Royal Constabulary were on their knees and bloody. One was missing a hand and was pressing a cloth to the ragged stump. Around the Antivan men stood seven of the Orlesian Chevaliers in their glistening gilded plate with their swords drawn; beyond them stood dozens of knights and men-at-arms armed with weapons drawn guarding the rest of the Constables.

The Antivan's eyes bulged as he took it in, "What have you done to my men!"

The Queen nodded to Charles and he was grateful for it. This was her camp but these were his men to command and if need be discipline. "Ser Renly," he called for the commander of this detachment of the _de Gendarmerie de l'Impératrice, "_Explain."

Ser Renly was now Charle's second in command after the departure of Baron de Delacroix to Val Royeaux to assume command of _de Gendarmerie de l'Impératrice _in the capital. Unlike de Delacriox, Renly was knew to the _de Gendarmerie de l'Impératrice _only recently winning his spurs. His appointment was mainly a political one as he was the third son of the Duke of Lorraine, but so far the lad had shown he had a good head on his shoulders. He hoped he wouldn't be forced to take. Duke Eddard of Lorraine was one of the most powerful nobles in the empire and a good friend of the throne.

"These cravens" the Chevalier started in the empire's tongue, but switched over quickly when the Prince gave him a pointed look. "These cravens," his Fereldan wasn't good but it was passable, "we caught sneaking about the camps. We demanded they halt and explain themselves, but they drew blades," the Chevalier shrugged as if the state of the men themselves explained everything. He reached to his belt and removed a purse and tossed it to his Prince, "Each of them carried these."

Charles caught it with his free hand and undid the leather binding securing it. Upending the purse cause gold to spill out onto the hard ground. The Prince knelt and sorted through the pile and picked out the different coins, "Orlesian Florins, Antivian Crowns, Ferelden Sovereigns and…" he trailed off.

The last coin he picked up was gold by iron engraved with strange markings that Charles didn't recognize so wordlessly he held it out for the Queen to take. She did clasping onto it with her gauntleted hands and held the coin up to the light of the fire. She then passed it of too Tiberius who nodded slowly and retrieved two similar marked coins from his pouch and handed all three back to Charles.

"These two were taken from the Antiva Crows who made an attempt on my life," she announced.

The Prince of Orlais studied the coins carefully. Surely enough they all held similar markings with but a few difference… some sort of identification, he thought. "Well," he turned to the Antivan, "care to explain."

The Prince of Antiva had gone white as a ghost, "I…I... swear I knew nothing about this I… I... I'm an envoy," he squeaked and slowly a stench wafted up that any solder was all too familiar with. The man had lost control of his bowels.

"One who has betrayed his oath of parley," Tiberius said darkly is great helm making him look more like a demon of the Fade than an anointed knight of the realm, "we invited you into our camp to warm yourselves by our fires and eat our meat and bread and enjoy our ale and this is how you repay us."

"I did not," the Prince wailed and fell to his knees at Cecilia's feet begging like a dog. Charles was briefly reminded of the servant's crude joke and bit back a laugh. "Please mercy my Queen, mercy… mercy, mercy," he wailed.

Charles glanced at the Queen waiting for her command; her face was hard as she gave him a slow nod and Charles caught Renly's eyes and the Chevalier grabbed the handless Crow and tiled his head to the side. Renly drew his sword back and drove it down through the man's shoulder. The other Chevaliers didn't waste time in the bloody work.

The sight of the slaughter caused the worthless Antivan prince to break out in a fresh round of tears. Charles curled his lip in disgust. A man as weak as that, one who couldn't defend his land had no place bearing the title Prince. A look at Cecilia showed she was of similar mind.

Finally it appeared the Queen and in quicker than the eye could follow drew her sword and in the same motion severed the man's head. The head belonging to what was formerly Prince Leon of the Kingdom of Antiva fell to the ground with a sickly wet thump.

Silence fell over the whole of the as the Queen resheathed her still bloody sword. "Bring him here to me," Cecilia pointed to one of the Constables. Charles watched as the piss frighten man was hauled up by two knight and thrown at the Queen's feet.

"Tear his cloak." The knights didn't hesitate and did just that, tearing the sable cloak from the man's shoulders and tossing it at the man's feet. "I'm sending you back to Antiva City with a message for your king."

There was no doubt about what the message was.

XXX

It was days before Hector was summoned again before the Old Man of the Mountain. He knew almost immediately that the assassination attempt had gone wrong for the Old Man was in a more somber mood than usual.

He stood silently waiting for the Master of the Crows to speak. "The men I sent failed," he finally said, "And the Queen's army now marches under the very shadow of the Peaks of Aludin."

The Peaks of Aludin was the range of mountains where Gilbran rested, nestled at the top of the highest mountain fed by only a single winding path. The road was nigh impossible for an army to march unnoticed and Gilbran was supposedly nigh impregnable, but so far that had never been tested. Gilbran's greatest defense was its secrecy. All the original builders had been killed the moment of completion to ensure that secrecy.

Of course with an army waiting at the base of the mountain he couldn't very well risk leaving until they passed by. That put him in the unfortunate position of racing ahead of the Ferelden army to Antiva City and then having to escape again before the city fell under siege. Of course with the army marching north it was possible that the man he sought wasn't even in Antiva City.

"I want you ready to leave the moment reports the Ferelden army has left," he ordered.

XXX

Cecilia Theirin stood watching as the witch Morrigan prepared the final steps of the ritual. The Queen stood had the center of an intricately carved circle surrounded by Tiberius, Dakrak, Raymond, Robert and Edward.

This spell was an ancient one form the earliest days of the Tevinter Imperium and had to be performed exactly right for it to work otherwise it was less than usless. So Cecilia waited for Morrigan to finish her work. Finally the witch stood garbed in the robes of a Chantry Sister and presented the Queen with a jar of purplish liquid… the blood of a dragon.

"Begin the ritual," the Queen commanded as took the liquid and held it at her lips. Morrigan started her ritual and even those without magic in their blood could feel the air tingle as the ancient words were spoken. When they had reached their crescendo Cecilia drank from the jar of blood, some of the liquid spilled of the edges of her mouth and onto her obsidian armor. When the last word was finished a crack like thunder ripped through the air and Cecilia felt her world grow dark as the spell took hold.

_Across the continent at the top of the Frostback Mountains overlooking the tomb of the Prophet Andraste a mighty beast stirred as he heard its master's call. Cecilia could see the beast as it awoke and drove a single though into the great beasts mind. A deafening roar shattered the serenity of the mountain as the High Dragon stretched out its wings and took flight. The child of the Old Gods took to the sky in all its terrible glory set to a single purpose of death Chaos and destruction._

_Though know could truly know the minds of these beasts for while they were more cunning than the wolf or the bear or the lion and all the other animals that walked, crawled or flew they were still animals. This one however was given a purpose by a power beyond its own and now a single through burned in its it mind. The dragon knew not where it could go for it had never been more than a hundred leagues from the Frostback, but that it matter. It was called and it could not resist the Old One._


	7. Chapter 6

**The Dragon Queen: Beginnings **

Chapter 6: Dragonfire

Hector was growing more and more restless with each day he was forced to wait and he was not the only one. The Queen of Ferlden had been encamped for three days down at the base of the Mountain of Alduin had so far had refused to leave. The Old Man had forbidden the rangers to investigate out of fear that they may stumble upon one of the patrols and in such an event the might of Gilbran could not survive the fury of the Queen's army.

At the very least he had been able to return to his old barracks which even though it was shared with five other Crows and lacked for privacy was better than his cell. Now he found himself on one of the castle's inner wall wrapped in a thick fur cloak to warn off the chill of the mountain. Before this whole affair had started he'd often found himself walking the walls as a way to calm his mind.

The night was long and the howling of the wind seamed to drown out everything else. It was in moments like these he was glad the Gilbran never had to fight off enemies like such castles were built to defend against. An entire army could be moving beneath the walls at this very instants and no one would be able to tall.

The wind howled again… Hector froze, he'd been here most of his life, but he had never heard the winds howl like that not even on the fiercest nights. The howl again and irrationally he looked upward searching for any sign of what had made that terrible sound.

"There-"

"Is that-"

Hector saw but couldn't believe what his eyes were seeing. A dark shape flew through the sky to fast and too dark to see except when it silhouetted itself against the moonlight. His mind told him what it was long before he could accept it. It was a High Dragon… it must have been it could be mistaken for nothing else.

"Dragon," Hector called hoarsely feeling fear pool in the pit, "Dragon," he called out again as loud as he could barely able to believe what his eyes were seeing.

A handful of the rangers responded to what must have an absurd cry and glanced up. It was the last thing the five men would ever do as the great dragon opened his mouth and spat a stream of fire that cooked the men alive and left smoking chunks of meat behind. Hector watched fearful as the High Dragon rose back up into the air and circled around breathing fire all around the lower levels of the great fortress setting them alight. He watched in horror as the lower levels began to burn no doubt with men and women still in them.

He needed to do something he realized as he tore himself away from the horrid sight and ran for the castle doors. The armory, he thought franticly as he bound down the stairs towards the nearest cache of weaponry. Inside he found some ten White Cloaks dressing in mail, slinging longbows and gathering arrows.

They didn't say anything to him as he joined them and armed himself with a yew longbow. They were just as scared as he was he realized worriedly. The walls of the great fortress shook as again as the Dragon roared. Hector grabbed a quiver of broad head arrows and slung it over his shoulder. The White Cloaks moved out of the armory silently expect for the rare command from their leader. The stench of fear hung heavy in the air as they climbed down the steps of the tower.

Suddenly they tower shook and the wall above them on the stairs burst in. and a great clawed forelimb tore through the wall caught one of the rear White Cloaks cutting him to bloody ribbons.

"Move!" the leader of the small band shouted as the dragons pushed its head through the hole it had just made, "Get out now!"

Hector who was in the front of their column rushed through the open door at the base of the tower and threw himself out onto the thin layer of snow that coated the courtyard grounds. Two more men made it out of the tower before it was lit by an unholy light and a stream of fire thundered out the door. Over the fire Hector swore he could the screams of the White Cloaks who were being roasted alive.

Scrambling to his feet Hector fumbled for an arrow and notched it. Hector pulled back the bowstring to his ear and aimed at the dragon still clinging to the tower. He released it sending the white fletched arrow sailing through the night's sky towards the dragons flank and… it bounced off the dragon's scales without so much as scratching them.

It was enough to annoy the great lizard however as it pulled its head from the tower, unfurled its wings making it seem bigger than it already was and roared a roar that seemed to shake the very foundations of the world.

More arrows soared through the air as the White Cloaks and assassins manned the battlements. Like his own they mostly bounced off the scales but a few struck between the natural plate armor and buried themselves in the dragon's flesh. The dragon roared not from pain, but rather from annoyance. It was like a swarm of bees attacking a bear; they couldn't kill the bear, but served to make it angrier and meaner.

Like one of the desert lizards he'd seen the dragon climbed the tower, its forelimbs and hind legs tearing great gapes of stone from the ancient tower. Unfurling its wings again the dragon took flight breathing fire at the men on the battlements below decimating their ranks.

It was useless Hector thought as the dragon landed on the still burning battlements and began tearing into the surviving men with fang and claw. With fear worming itself through his gut he ran back through the courtyard towards the keep itself hating himself for every step but knowing he could do no good out there. He was assassin not a dragonslayer none of these men were.

When he made it up the quarters belonging to the Old Man of the Mountain Hector was shocked to find the Old Man sitting alone in his chair with a glass of wine in his old withered hand starring out the window down on the hellish scene below.

"Master," Hector said, "We need to leave before the dragon raises the entire castle to the ground."

"It will not my boy," the Old Man raggedly sighed, "I have been a fool… nay the king of fools. I have have involved myself in the affairs of powers beyond my own. Look at that the dragon, at the damage it had done and you can see it is not the random act of a beast. There is intelligence behind the actions," he stretched out his hand and pointed, "See the first attack destroyed the gatehouse and now the beast draws are men away. The Dragon Queen has played her hand."

Hector gaped at the Old Man of the Mountain as he processed what he had just said, "Cecilia Theirin… she is responsible for this... how?"

He drained his glass before setting the empty cup down, "There were always rumors about her birth. It is very difficult for a Grey Warden to father a child and to the best of my knowledge no female warden has every successfully given birth to a live healthy child."

"Are you suggesting King Alistair and Queen Elissa used magic to conceive a child," he wasn't sure he could believe that. The late King and Queen had been admired by most of the continent as great heroes of the age. They did after all stop a blight and slay an Archdemon after uniting a country torn apart by treachery and civil war.

"No…," he drawled taking another sip of ruby liquid, "but an Old God is a being of immense power and knowledge and remember Cecilia was born almost nine months to the day and that day was shrouded with ill omens," the Old Man said softly, "You were too young to remember by the very same day the Grand Cathedral in Val Royeaux was gutted by fire killing the Divine and several Grand Clerics. The north coast Tevinter also was hit by a massive storm that killed thousands and a quake toppled the grand statue of Andraste in Antiva city. Plus," he continued refilling his glass, "consider her banner… a dragon, no monarch in their history has used dragon heraldry but her."

"It could be coincidence," Hector said warily.

"Or a song of the rising of ancient power made new," the Old Man added.

A chill descended down his spine so cold it made the fierce wind of the mountain pale in comparison. If it was true than… than what was the thing he had been sent to kill. That one of the Old Gods could walk free on the surface of Thedas? Hector was not a pious man, but he didn't want the gods of Tevinter to return.

"This is all conjecture… correct," Hector whispered. He was so fully entranced by what the man was telling him that he momentary forgot the horrors ensuing outside. He wasn't quite sure what he wanted the answer to be.

"Are you asking if I have proof… then nay," the Old Man said with a sigh, "No just my theories and the whispers of my birds," he turned to look Hector with sad eyes and said, "Now you should flee Hector the dragon comes."

With sudden realization he looked out the glass window his eyes scanning for the tarrying shape of the High Dragon, but it was nowhere to be seen.

The Old Man laughed, "No my boy the dragon on two legs comes."

XXX

Cecilia moved through the halls of the keep with her bloodstained sword glistening by the torchlight. So far everything was going according to the plan. The High Dragon had done its bloody work and tore through the assassins and their guards. Those few that remained were being put to the sword by knights of the Sovereign's Own led by Tiberius and Dakrak.

When they reached the top the winding staircase the knights began to disperse moving to secure the keep's upper levels. There were brief shouts of terror from servants and the ringing of steel when they found a living Crow before they were mercilessly cut down.

Cecilia entered an opulent chamber fit a king with her sword in hand. At the end of the room facing the window was a high back chair. The Queen couldn't see if anyone was in the chair until an old hand reached out and plucked a glass of wine that was sitting on the end table.

"I have to congratulate you young dragon," the Old Man of the Mountain said wearily, "You have brought down Gilbran and the ancient Crows of Antiva, a story for the ages no doubt."

"I mean to do far more than that old man," Cecilia laughed as she circled to the right to get a better angle. Just because he was old didn't been he was defenseless. After all the most effective assassin was not the burly young man with rippling muscles, but the old man or woman, or the adorable child… something you would never expect.

"I know what you are Cecilia Theirin," the Master of the Crows started, "a herald of doom and death. The Lord of War reborn in mortal flesh. What your purpose is I do not know, but the world of man will not be better off for it."

The Queen felt her eyes narrow and her heart skip a beat. The old Crow knew far more than he was supposed to… but whispers and blood were his trade were they not. But even if he knew he had no proof… no means to prove his words… for there was none to be had even for the Crows to ferret out.

"If that's true than why haven't go gone to the Grand Cleric or the Divine herself," Cecilia mocked and flourished her sword, "Surly a creature such as I should not be allowed to walk amongst the faithful…, but wait," he paused as if realizing some great revelation, "what is the word of a master of assassins when compared to the words of a Queen."

Slowly the Old Man stood and Cecilia saw at in his hand a gleaming jewel encrusted scimitar with a golden pommel. The curving blade of the sword was glistening with some kind of coating… poison no doubt and given the man whose sword this was she would guess it was very, very, nasty.

Cecilia shifted her stance into a two handed grip on her longsword wrapping her left hand around the pommel of the weapon. Adopting an en' guard position Cecilia temped him to strike, but the man was smart enough not to take the bait. He had to know that he would never leave these chambers alive and was hoping to take her with him and all he needed to do so was a prick on bare skin.

There was the sound of metal boots on the stone floor. The Queen spared the men a glance to confirm they were her own before waving them off. This was her fight and she would not let her men think even for a second she was afraid.

Taking several steps forward she swung her blade in a probing attack. The Old Man of the Mountain blocked her strike by deflecting it to the side and counterattacked. Cecilia parried two sweeping strikes with her sword and turned the blade aside. She stepped in towards him running her blade along his until she drove her elbow into his face.

There was a wet crack as obsidian colored plate connected with the man's face. He fell onto his back with a shout of pain and blood pouring from his battered face. She stood over the man for a second the tip of her sword at his throat.

"All to easy," she breathed as she bent a knee and with her right hand released the grip on her sword to pick up the scimitar. She gave the curved blade several experimental swings.

It was well balanced, but she could tell this was not an infantryman's weapon. With his weighted end it was best suit for swinging from horseback. This was a weapon most often used by the nomadic tribes from the far western wastelands who the Tevinters often hired as mercenaries for their armies.

By this time the Old Man of the Mountain had propped himself up on one elbow, "Just get it over with you demon whore," he hissed as the blood from his nose stain the pure white of his beard.

Cecilia tossed her longsword up in the air and caught it in a reverse grip before sliding it into its sheath. The she lowered the scimitar so the curved edge was barely touching the skin of the Crow's neck. Her eyes met his, "I am far more than a demon could ever hope to be."

His eyes widely fearful as he saw the burning gleam of her eyes through the visor slit of her helm, "No please… mercy."

The Queen of Ferelden laughed a deep laugh, deeper and harder than she had laughed in years or perhaps ever. The thought of the Master of the Antiva Crows a man with the blood of countless thousands on his withered hands asking for mercy was an irony she found hilarious. Her laugh was soon joined by the roaring laughter of her knights.

She looked down on the wounded old man of man and said, "Those who ask for mercy are often the most undeserving," and with that she made a small cut on the man's neck and waited for the poison to take effect. She was most interested in the death the old man had planned for her.

Within the first minute the man began to seize as if he taken by a demon. Within two his mouth he began to foam at the mouth as his eyes rolled back in his head and the pitiful sounds echoing from his throat died down.

"Poison," Cecilia said amusedly as she handed to the scimitar to one of her knights, "a two edged sword to say the least, dangerous to the wielder as to the foe, but it has its uses. Dawrves are awfully found of the stuff aren't they Dakrak?"

The Dwarf had entered the chamber behind her knights covered in head to with gore. "So I have read my Queen," the dwarf sated before continuing, "I have secured the archives and they are being readied for transport as we speak. Tiberius is still mopping up the rest of the garrison as we speak."

"Good," Cecilia nodded please, "Once everything is loaded put the place to the torch… I want nothing left."

"Yes my Queen," Dakrak paused and tiled his helm reminding her of a dog when confused, "Tiberius reports that he has found cells filled with children… twenty six if his counts are right."

"Slaves mostly and urchins from the street of Antiva's cities being trained to become Crows… kill them," she ordered. Dakrak bowed and made over to carry out her grizzly will went she turned and held up a hand, "Wait I want to see them. Take me there."

If Cecilia's dwarf showed any relief at noting having to slaughter children caged in pens like animals he didn't show. Silently he led the Queen towards the cells where the children were being kept. Three of her knights stood guard in front of the iron bars of the cells.

Cecilia glanced in and saw numerous children of ages from eight to perhaps nine or ten. These were children who would have one day became the assassins of the order, but they were nothing yet, until they were broken and rebuilt. The breaking down had begun but had not been finished.

"Who in the bloody hells are you," one of the boys spat from behind the cell in the tongue of Antiva.

He was a ragged little thing barely more than skin and bones, but there was a fire that burned in his eyes. Cecilia knelt down so she was at eye level with the boy, "I am a Queen," she whispered in the same tongue. "I offer all you now a choice return to return to your homes were they may be or to enter my sworn service."

The children looked at one another and she could see there little minds mulling over their options. Most no doubt had no any homes to return to even if they could have found their place of origin. They were worn and ragged, but this ordeal had been enough to teach them their lot in life. Cecilia's words were not lost on the children, if these pitiful creatures could still be called children after everything they had gone through.

"You have until I leave this place to decide your fates," she finished with a spin and headed back towards the courtyard.

Dakrak caught up to her and asked, "If I may be so bold…"

"Why did I offer then a place in my service," she offered as the completion to his words. The dwarf nodded and Cecilia choose her next words, "Some will show skill in arms and might one day make able men-at-arms, some might even be lucky enough to win their spurs. Others might show skills in the arts of the bard and rouge and might be put to use warring upon my enemies with word and dagger then with sword, shield and lance. Still others might be put to better uses as scribes and stewards." 

"I think I understand," Dakrak replied.

"A pup trained since birth to obey is much more loyal than one who comes to you full grown," Cecilia said with a small smile, "they may be useful in the future."

XXX

Hector found himself once more in the position of fleeing from the swords belonging to the sworn service of the Queen of Ferelden. The last time this had happened it had been in her home, her palace in Denerim. It seemed like a cruel joke of the maker that this time it was happening in his own.

He had taken a warm wooden cloak from one of the dead men along with their weapons and what little cointhey had to make his escape. Now he slunk like a rat through the halls of what had once been his home.

Suddenly Hector froze as he thought he heard something. He closed his eyes and listened carefully and there it was two voices echoing through the corridor. Pausing he glanced around. He knew these halls probably than anyone left alive. Moving silently he positioned himself at a crossroads, hidden and cloaked in shadows. Notching and arrow he drew back and waited.

He didn't have to wait long before two figures came into view. One was a knight in obsidian black armor wearing an ornate dragon surcoat different from the ones he remembered at Denerim. Upon a closer view he realized the figure was a woman and the fact that her companion was a dwarf… could it be the Queen?

Hector calmed his breath and took careful aim with his bow at the juncture between the great helm and the breastplate. There only a thin layer of main protected the throat of Ferelden's Queen and consequently her from an early grave. For a second he hesitated wondering if he could even kill her if what the Old Man said was true.

But his hesitation lasted only a second and he let the arrow loose. He watched the deadly staft fly through the air and felt his breath catch hoping that this nightmare would be over… then he felt hisheart shatter. He didn't know how, but the Queen pivoted and in a blink of an eye caught the arrow.

Hector didn't have enough time to shout and barely enough time to dodge before the Dwarf's axe cut through the space where his head had been seconds before. The Crow dropped and rolled out of the way of an overhand strike just a hair before it split the one beneath his feet.

The dwarf was mad Hector thought as he drew his shortsword and leapt away from another strike that just missed cutting him in two. He was a bloody berserker, the Crow realized with a start. He'd heard tales of dwarven berserkers, but had never actually met or seen one and he wished he never had as he narrowly dodged another death blow that sent stone from the floor flying through the air.

Hector drove the tip forward thrusting it like a spear, but the blade was turned away by the heavy dwarven plate. The dwarf thrust forward his weapon like a spear catching Hector square in the chest. The force of the blow sent the air rushing from his lungs and violently threw him onto his back in a daze.

By the Maker's grace he recovered enough wits to roll right to avoid the great axe screaming down towards his head. Before the dwarf could recover, Hector lashed out with his right leg catching the dwarf in the calf.

The strength and position of the blow forced the leg forward and hyperextended the tendon. The dwarf went down in a colossal crash of plate and a rage addled shout. Hector scrambled to his feet and not waiting to see the results he bolted off like a stag in the eyes of a predator… or perhaps more like a crow in the eyes of a dragon.

XXX

Cecilia stood still, every muscle in her body locked rigid as she held the arrow that had so very nearly ended her life in the exact position she had caught it in. The assassin's arrow was a bare handbreadth from the visor of her great helm and her unprotected flesh.

The Queen of Ferelden was more than mortal. She was stronger and faster than any human in the entire world and had had the knowledge of the ancient dragon gods of the Imperium. Her flesh would heal quicker and resist more damage than others courtesy of the power within her, but she was not invincible. It a single horrifying moment she had been forced to recall that mortality. If she fell here she wasn't sure what her fate would be and that was terrifying enough.

The shout of her dwarven comrade as he fell woke her from her trance and she broke the arrow in two with a dry snap and tossed the ruined remnants away. Cecilia drew her longsword and strode forward but by then the Crow was gone. She blinked looked down at Dakrak before offering a shaking hand to her fallen soldier.

"My Queen-," he began as she helped him to his feet.

Cecilia fixed the dwarf with a glare that quickly silenced him and warned, "Do not let it happen again"

With one hand around his waist she helped him walk on his bad leg at a pace that was no doubt uncomfortable, but he said nothing… it wasn't his place too. The Queen was of a mood where it was best to leave her alone. The dragonblood in her veins was burning and it was best to simply leave her alone until it simmered down.

When they entered the courtyard the Queen found herself watching as her knights carefully loaded scores of books, tomes, and scrolls onto ox drawn carts. These parchments would provide critical information on rooting out and destroying what was left of the assassins. With these documents her men could track their safehouses, their movements and more importantly the banks in which they stored their coin. She'd seen them burn… all of them.

"Your Majesty are you hurt," Ser Raymond inquired worriedly as he and two other knights came upon them.

"I am fine… Dakrak is injured," she announced as she foisted the wounded dwarf on one of her knights, "What is our progress on the evacuation?"

"Tiberius has secured the last of the materials and his bringing them down now," Raymond replied.

"Good I do not wish to spend a moment longer in this place than is required," Cecilia snared angrily still unsettled by her near run in with death. "The army debarks on the morrow and as it stands there will be many a question about where we disappeared to this night. The longer we are gone the more questions there will be and I am in no mood to answer. "

And that was true. In the middle of the night she had taken nearly a fourth of the strength Sovereign's Own and rode off away from the camp telling the lords that she was taking this patrol personally. If any of them had any reservations about the Queen leading some fifty odd knights, squires and horse drawn carts out of the encampment for a 'patrol' they had wisely kept silent.

The Queen was about to dismiss the knight when he noticed him staring at her hand. She glanced down and to her embarrassment she saw her hand was still shaking. Clenching her hand into a fist she glared up at Raymond, "Is there anything else Ser?"

"No, your Grace," Raymond said quickly and thumped his armored hand over his chest and bowed before turning to take his leave.

Cecilia mounted her horse and took the reins from the squire who had been tending to the steed. The warhorse snorted and raked the ground with its hoof. The stallion was impatient, impatient as his master. It knew it did not belong here and resented not being among the bloodshed where such a charger belonged.

Patting the side of the mighty destrier as it snorted again, Cecilia whispered calming words into its ear and slowly it steadied itself. The Queen waited as the last of the documents were loaded and Tiberius mounted up next to her.

"The last of them have been prepared for transport," Tiberius said as he settled into the saddle.

Cecilia regarded her general with an appraising stare. The general was covered in gore from head to toe and had removed his great horned helm. The man had an unholy gleam in his eyes from the slaughter he had led. More than any man she knew, more than even herself Tiberius loved the thrill and blood of battle.

A smile flittered across her face. Tiberius had a bloodlust in him that would have been worthy of the Disciples of Argon back in the glory days of empire. The disciples had been an ancient cult in the Old Imperium that were devoted to the Lord of War and reveled in bloodshed and slaughter. They that been the militant arm of his temple and amongst the fiercest warriors of Old Tevinter. Every kill, every drop of blood spilt had been in the Dragon God's honor.

An image flashed through her mind of the Day of Blood in Old Tevinter. In the ancient arena that still stood today thousands were sacrificed in a single bloody day, in a veritable orgy of violence and death, for the Dragon's pleasure. She could literally smell the sickly sweet coppery flavor of blood as it wafted up from the arena sands.

A jolt of pleasure went through her as the memories swam before her eyes. It was hard to explain the feeling of thousands of men and women fighting and dying, spilling their life's blood to sate your lusts and yet it unsettled her. The Dragon God of War was more than simply bloodlust and rage; it was also ice as much as fire. Warrevealed in strategy and planning, in the cold satisfaction of watching your plan unfold knowing there is nothing your enemy can do to stop you. It was a conflicting dichotomy of Fire and Ice that had made Argon among the most feared of all the Old Gods.

It was what she was and what she had to be… fire and ice; otherwise she was just as dangerous to herself as she was to her enemies. She was less than useless if she herself surrendered to her bloodlusts. It was a fine trait in her servants because she could control it, shape it, direct it and release it where and when she chose.

"We are ready," Tiberius's voice brought her back from her memories.

"Good," she said as she started at the burning remnants of the Crows fortress. For a moment all she did was stare at the burning castle; its silhouette reflected eerily in her eyes. "Let us leave this place."

As she said that she glanced down and saw that her hand was still shaking. Cursing she clenched her fist tight around the reigns in anger; ashamed of such a visible weakness. With a sudden jolt of realization she recognized that she was afraid… for the first time in a very long time she felt claw at her insides. With effort she pushed the feeling down and put it aside focusing on what she had to do next.

XXX

"My Prince the Queen's party returns and she commands the army to make ready for departure at first light," Ser Renly the second in command of the _de Gendarmerie de l'Impératrice_ said as he entered the Prince's Pavilion.

Charles awoke groggily from his slumber and stared at the Chevalier who'd awaken him from his slumber. When the realization of what the man said hit him Charles straightened up, "Thank you Renly. I will be out in a moment."

Went the young noble left Charles donned his gilded armor and attached his sword belt, but eventually decided to leave his helm and shield behind. He'd been confused when the Queen had taken a good number of her knights out on a patrol, but had decided not to bring it up. After all Cecilia was Queen and this was her army, she could choose what she wanted to do.

Throwing back the flap of his pavilion Charles stepped out into the cool dawn air. The Orlesian Prince rolled his neck and stretched his taught muscles as he took in the organized chaos of the army camp being broken down as some fifty thousand men and women, knights, squires, men-at-arms, common footmen and archers made ready to march.

He made his way through the city of tents towards the Queen's own Pavilion and found Teryn Cousland waiting outside with several of his knights, Arl Chester, Arl Tegan, Bann Renault, Marquis Montfort and others. They were carrying on an animated conversation which very promptly fell off when the Orlesian Prince approached.

"My lords and ladies," Charles intoned with a bow of his head, "I hear our Queen returns from her outing."

"Aye," Arl Chester shouted slamming his fist into his palm, "I for one am glad to be on the march again. We should not have tarried here as long as we have."

"I am afraid it was necessary my good Arl," the Queen sounded from behind all of them, "but now we are ready to continue once more. I want you all back with your men making ready to decamp."

One by one the nobles left until only the Prince and the Teyrn remained. Charles watched as the Queen dismounted from her jet black stallion and the Teryn gave his niece a warm embrace. He said something to her in a low tone that Charles couldn't make out, but from the look on the Queen's face it wasn't well received. The Queen clapped her uncle on the shoulder and said something back The Teryn didn't look pleased at all, but in the end he clapped his niece on the shoulder and left shaking his head and muttering under his breath.

Cecilia made her way towards him and offered a slight smile, "My uncle worries for my safety."

"As would any kin," Charles responded with a smile of his own even though he knew it was a lie. In a way it was heartwarming to see such concern shown. He had no doubt his brother and mother cared for him, but neither would ever show it… much less in public, "He cares for you… you are his sister's daughter after all."

"I have endured much worse than a scouting mission, but alas…," she trailed off as she pulled back the flap of her tent and beckoned him to follow.

Charles followed the Queen into her tent, saw her take her seat at the table and promptly poured herself a glass of amber liquid and motioned the Prince to take a seat. He did and when she offered him a glass he did not refuse. The drink went down hard and burned as it did… Ferelden brandy was course stuff he mused as he set the goblet down on the desk.

He sat and gathered his thoughts on how to frame his next question. Finally he spoke, "My Queen if I may be so bold… exactly what were you doing last night."

The Ferelden Queen smiled in her cup before lowering the goblet and saying, "Taking the first steps of my revenge my good Prince." She paused and cast a glance over her shoulder, "You see at the top of that mountain rests the ancient fortress of Gilbran… does the name have meaning to you?"

Charles searched his memories for any reference to the name. After several long seconds of deep thought a fleeting memory did pass through his mind. He remembered a conversation between the head of the Orlesian spy network a wiry little man who went by the codename "Le Tenn" the Sneak and his mother's privy council about three or four years.

The meeting had been on the clandestine conflicts between the bards in the service of the Empress, the bards in service of the other nobles of Orlais and of course the infamous Crows of Antiva. As the leader of Orlais martial armies charged with the defense of the empire he also had to be aware of the subtler struggles going on both within and without of the borders of the empire.

He remembered very little from the meeting but he did remember the name "Gilbran" being mentioned by Le Tenn in regards to the Crows possible as a base of operations for the assassins, but little beyond that. To the best of his ability he couldn't remember if the old sneak had discovered anything more about it.

"I have heard the name before," the Prince admitted, "at one of my mother's privy council meetings but nothing beyond that."

"I thought as much," the Queen said as she stood from her chair and stalked her way over to him gently swaying her hips as she did.

Charles felt his eyes go wide at the sight. Very few women could pull off such movements in full plate armor and still inflame a man's lust, but obviously Cecilia could and did it well. Throwing her leg over his lap she straddled him and before he knew what was going on she had her lips pressed against his.

Moaning into her mouth he brought his hands around to rest at the base of her spine. "Well this was unexpected," Charles sighed when he finally opened his eyes. He'd had many women in his life… human and elven, but somehow none of them had ever been has satisfying as a kiss from this woman.

"We are betrothed are we not," she whispered against his lips before pulling back away, "Now as I was saying about Gilbran…"

The Prince blinked confused by the rapid shifts, "Yes… Gilbran," he whispered hoarsely as he slid his hands around her waist and pulled her back towards him.

"Naughty," he heard her says as their lips connected again he felt a growl build in his chest as she ground herself into him, "Anyway… Gilbran is… was the headquarters of the Antivan Crows."

"Was," he questioned when he broke for air.

"As in it is no more," she whispered into his ear, "I made sure of that."

This time it was he who pulled back, "You sacked a castle with fifty men," he asked incredulously. Perhaps more impressive than that was she took it in a single night.

A siege was perhaps that most complicate part of warfare as it took weeks or months to properly starve out a garrison or skilled engineers to construct the siege equipment to bash down the walls. If one did assemble the equipment necessary to take the walls by force conventional wisdom dictated that a force of three to one was needed for success.

Of course the simplest method was to have a traitor on the inside to open the gates for you but that ran its own risks. Somehow he doubted that the Queen could turn one of the assassins against their own and if she could… he suddenly regarded the woman straddling in new light. He knew she was dangerous and intelligent, but this… he smirked he swore he was falling in love.

"You are an amazing woman Cecilia," he whispered huskily.

"I know," she whispered back and let her hands wander. After what seemed like forever she drew back, "I have a request for you."

"Name it."

"To join de Montfort in the vanguard with your Chevaliers," she answered, "I need someone I can trust at the van. The Marquis is competent enough, but I need more than competent at the head of my army."

"Of course my Queen… whatever you command," he said and founding himself meaning every word of it.

A sly smile drifted across her face, "Well for now I command you to stay here," she said as she dipped in for another kiss.

XXX

For the second time this year Hector found himself on the run from the Maker dammed Queen of Ferelden and her barbarian hordes. Wrapping his scavenged cloak around him he slinked his way through the forest. He'd already dodged on Ferelden patrol and wasn't willing to test his luck against a second.

Briefly he considered heading westward towards the Free March cities of Kirkwall, Starkhaven, Ansburg or he could even head all the way to Nevarra or Orlais if necessary. It would take longer than heading to any of the Antivan cities, but it would mean abandoning his mission. If the Old Man's contact in Antiva was right than he night be able to prove that the Fereldan Queen had set this all up.

If he proved that then… well he wasn't sure what he'd do exactly. Perhaps he'd go to Kirwall… after all they weren't on very good terms with Ferelden right now. With luck he might be able to convince the Viscount who might then take it to the Divine herself. He laughed… and perhaps Andraste herself would descend from the heavens and smite Cecilia with the Maker's holy fire.

Suddenly he was interrupted from his revelry by the unmistakable sound of a twig breaking underfoot. Her froze listening to the sounds of the forest before unsling his bow. Notching an arrow he crept slowly through the underbrush and grit his teeth when he saw what he was up against.

In a clearing in the wood was a Ferelden knight in a dull grey plate armor wearing a surcoat emblazoned with the golden twin laurels of House Cousland and mounted on a dark brown steed. Around him were five men, one in partial plate and chain wearing the crest of Dragon Peak, and the other four also wore the seal of House Cousland over chain mail armor.

A knight, his squire and four men-at-arms, all mounted out on patrol. Hector cursed under his breath. He drew the bow back taking aim at the knight before deciding against it. He had been lucky so far in his encounters with the Fereldans and didn't want to tempt fate any more. He turned to flee when to his utter shame his foot landed on a twig.

"What the-," one of the men shouted.

Hector swore aloud and spun on his heel quickly took aim and let the arrow fly. The broadhead arrow flew through the air, missed its intended target, the knight, and slammed into the throat of the squire sending him toppling from his mount.

"There… kill the bastard," the knight shouted as he drew a morningstar and brandished it over his head.

The men-at-arms didn't hesitate, drawing their longswords and spurring their mounts into action. Hector quickly notched an arrow and let it loose towards the first of the men-at-arms, but the warrior managed to get his kite shield up in time and the arrow imbedded itself harmlessly in the wooden barrier.

Hector notched another arrow and retreated deeper into the woods where the horsemen their speed and maneuverability would be for naught. Spinning around he loosed a third arrow sending it soaring towards the horsemen. The arrow flew true and struck one of the men-at-arms in the shoulder sending him ass over head from his mount.

He wasn't foolish enough or arrogant enough to believe he could take them all out by himself. Tossing his bow away he turned and ran drawing them deeper into the forest with the horsemen riding hot on his heels. He glanced back over his shoulder just in time to see the Highever knight charging down on him, his mace held ready to deliver a deadly blow.

Not hesitating Hector dove to right just before the knight's mace passed through the space he had just occupied. He hit the ground and rolled with the momentum out of harm's way. Pushing himself to his knees he bolted off in the opposite direction of the knight. He ducked between the two mounted men-at-arms and made off for his prize… the squire's horse.

He ignored the shouted obscenities the men-at-arms bellowed when they realized just what the Crow was planning, but by then it was too late for them to do anything. The assassin leapt onto the back of the steed and in a quick movement spurred the horse forward as hard as he could.

The squire's mount was a strong and well bred horse, faster and more nimble than the heavy destrier the knight was riding as it was burdened by the weight of a fully armored knight and the weight of the horse's own armor, but better than the beasts the men-at-arms were riding. Hector was confident that he could outride the knight and men-at-arms should they choose to give case and abandon their unconscious comrade.

Without glancing behind him Hector turned his steed North and put his horse to flight. He had a long ride ahead of him until he reached the Antiva City and knew the quicker he got to the city the longer he'd have time to look for the Old Man's contact before the Ferelden army arrived.

XXX

Once more the army of Ferelden was on the march. A miles long column of men and horses made their way up the Antivian coastline. At the front of the army in the vanguard were the men of Oswtick and the Orlesians under de Montfort and Charles respectively.

Though the likelihood of attack by any significant force was small Cecilia had taken no risks. She had deployed her army with her horse on closest to the sea and then the infantry on the outside. The less valuable infantry would serve as shield to protect the horsemen from any attack until they could counterattack. Also as it stood marching with their sides to the sea would protect their right flank and provide easy resupply from their shadowing fleet.

Near the center of the marching column was the Queen and the Sovereign's Own , their dragon banners fluttering majestically in the lazy sea breeze and their black armor glistening under the midday sun. In the center of all of it rode Cecilia with Tiberius on her right and Dakrak on her left.

"What will become of the dragon," Tiberius asked as they rode.

Interrupted from her thoughts about the thrice escaped Crow she turned her head slightly to face him and answered, "I have gifted the creature with the castle to use as its lair if it so chooses."

"It could still be useful," Tiberius muttered, "A dragon is a powerful creature and its use on the battlefield or in a siege…" he trailed off as his Queen gave him a tired look.

"And how would I explain that I have a dragon at my beck and call," she queried fixing Tiberius with an annoyed glared. I may win the battles on the field but I would lose everything else I had gained. Dragons are often associated with the Imperium and their gods and it not something I want to have my name linked to… yet."

As she finished she glanced up at the red dragon banner fluttering in the breeze and felt a smile touch her lips. Perhaps it was already too late for that she mused before shrugging. It certainly couldn't be helped now.

"You right of course," Tiberius said with a grudging sigh. No doubt he had been imaging the army cutting a bloody swathe through the continent with a dragon at their back.

"I am more concerned at the moment with the Crow who escaped from the massacre," she added darkly, "from the news that reaches my ears he escaped not only from the fortress but managed to elude one of our patrols."

Tiberius shook his head, "The man leads a charmed life that much is certain and its was your uncle's men he slipped away from killing a squire from the peak in the process," he paused, " from the description he matches the man you fought in the keep… and the sole surviving member of the assassination team that infiltrated the Royal Palace back in Denerim."

The Queen regarded her general coly. She had heard the former but not the latter; but then again she shouldn't be that surprised. Ever since Denerim she had been plagued by the feeling that that man's escape would come back to haunt her.

"The dead squire?"

"Ahh… a nephew of Sigrid I think from the Dragon's Peak," the general said without the slightest bit of remorse in his tone, "the Bann has be a loyal friend and comrade and among the first to join your campaign you should send your condolences on his loss."

"I believe that would be prudent," she agreed. She gave it though and remembered that the Bann of the Dragon's Peak and his men were near the rear of the column with her uncle and the might of Highever where they could protect the column from attackers that might think to ambush him. "You have command general."

"As you command my queen," Tiberius answered thumping his right fist over his heart.

Tugging the rains of her steed she turned her horse around and bellowed, "I am heading to the rear!"

Immediately four of the knights led by Ser Raymond and Dakrak broke off from the main body of horse and formed up behind her. Two of the knights, Raymond and the third knight, moved up to take protective positions in front of her, while Dakrak took a position at her right and the final knight, Ser Edward who bore her banner, took the left.

Riding between the column of horse and the sea they made their way down the line. The Queen smiled as she watched the might of Ferelden Chivalry pass in neatly ordered ranks. Though not the premier army in Thedas and far from the greatest in history Cecilia was still proud of the force she had assembled.

In time she swore it would be the equal of any army past or present. From Minrathous to Vax Royeaux to the Wilds of the far south, there would be no force greater than the one she would command. As the Lord of War it was only fitting that she commanded the finest fighting force in the realm and she would be the one to forge and temper it in the upcoming battles that they would face.

Yes… everything was going quite nicely.


	8. Chapter 7

**The Dragon Queen: Beginnings **

Chapter 7: Betrayals

Kirkwall was a proud city, an ancient city. Its jet black walls had stood for ages protecting the city and ominously overlooking the Waking Sea. The City of Chains as it was sometimes called had been constructed ages before near the height of the Imperium by the Magister Lord Emerius Krayven out of the black cliffs of the coastline.

Once completed the city had been given the dubious honor of becoming the central hub for the Imperium's slave trade and the remnants of that 'honor' still marked the city to this very day. Despite its formidable walls, nearly impenetrable coastal defensives and that fact the only over land route to the city was the winding approach known as the Wounded Coast Kirkwall was one of the most conquered cities in history.

That land around which the city was built was first conquered from the elves of Elvhenan during their bloody centuries long struggle with the Imperium. In the early days of the Andraste's rebellion against the mage lords of the Imperium the abused and maltreated slaves of the city staged a rebellion of their own. They succeeded in overthrowing the Imperium's rule in a bloody uprising only to lose it again when a Tevinter Army was dispatched from the north to the relieve the beleaguered forces in the south. The Imperium as one would expect had not been merciful upon their re-conquest.

However the Tevinter's triumph had been short lived as not long after their initial victory the Alamarri horde of Maferath had done what the Imperium's generals deemed impossible; they had crossed the Waking Sea. Taken by complete surprise by the barbarian horde the Tevinters fell within two nights and the city once more was sacked and put to the sword.

In 7:28 of the Age of Storm Kirkwall would fall again to the heretical Qunari invaders and it would suffer terrible under their rule until liberated by the forces of the Orlesian Empire under Ser Lumile de Marais who would later rule as the first Viscount. Almost five decades later the Orlesian rule of the city was overthrown only to see the Order of the Templars emerge as the true power in the city.

Still even the holy Templars wouldn't be enough to save the city when the Qunari nearly conquered it again and when the Circle of Magi revolted. Those crises would be solved by the Champion of Kirkwall whose victories would propel him to the office of Viscount as the previous holder of the title had been murdered at the hands of the Qunari.

In the Viscount's Keep Garret Hawke swore that as long as he drew breath Kirkwall would not fall again. This city was not his original home, no that honor belonged to a small town in southern Ferelden, but over the years he had made this city his home; paying for it dearly in the process.

In Ferelden Garret Hawke had been a sworn sword in the service of Lord Lorain the master of a motte-and-bailey castle who ruled over his hometown. He had served in the lord's personal retinue during the ill-fated battle of Ostagar. Hawke had been one of the lucky few to escape the massacre that resulted when Teryn Loghain deserted with his army; his lord had not been so lucky.

With the army annihilated at Ostagar and the darkspawn pouring into the unprotected south Hawke had returned to his village collected his mother, brother and sister and headed north hoping to get ahead of the horde. During their escape his brother Craver had been slain by an ogre and it was only do to aid of the infamous Witch of the Wilds that they survived.

When he had arrived in Kirkwall he had nothing but the armor on his back and what remained of his family. It had taken his blood and sweat to care for his mother and mage sister. He'd fought and scrapped by to keep his sister safe from the templars while gathering enough coin to join an expedition to loot the Deep Roads.

But as it often seems in life; the Maker gives with one hand and takes away with the other. The adventure in the Deep Roads had given him enough coin to elevate his family from poverty to their old ancestral estate in hightown, but the price he had paid had been terrible. In the Deep Roads his sister had been injured and contracted the blight sickness which had resulted in her untimely death.

The next three years had seen the death of his mother at the hands of a deranged mage, culminated in the Qunari attacks which nearly conquered the city and resulted in him being named the Champion of Kirkwall. The following three had seen the city descend into madness as the Mages of the Circle and the Knights Templar drew up their battles lines before a single act of lunacy set the city on fire.

When the Knight-Commander had ordered the Rite of Annulment Hawke had found himself agreeing with her; never mind the fact that she went mad and later tried to murder him. The circle was put to the sword and when the dust and blood settled the Templar's had crowned him Viscount.

"Viscount Hawke," the voice of Hawke's steward, a dwarf named Bodahn Feddic, "Prince Vael his here."

Standing up from the large glossy marble table the ruler of Kirkwall turned and thanked his friend and told him to make sure the Prince's men were given anything they desired. The Principality of Starkhaven, the richest and most powerful city-state in the Free Marches was in Kirkwall at his old comrade and friend's request.

"Garret my friend it has been far too long," Prince Vael of Starkhaven said with a grin on his face as he embraced his old friend.

The Prince of Starkhaven looked older than Hawke had remembered, but then again that was to be expected. The years had not been kind to Sebastain. The man's once chestnut hair was streaked with grey and the Prince simply looked old as if the weight of ruling his principality aged him prematurely.

Garret Hawke on the other hand was still the mountain of the man he had been when he first arrived in the city all those years ago. Hawke stood a full head higher than most other men and was heavily muscled from wielding his greatsword. Only sign of his age was the silver in his closely trimmed goatee and hair.

Clapping Vael on the back Hawke responded, "It is good to see you to Sebastian."

Taking a seat in one of the plush high back the Prince of Starkhaven waited for Hawke to take his own seat before sighing deeply. The former chantry brother turned prince looked across the table with a weary expression on his face.

"As I have said before I pleased to see you again… it was kind of you to invite me to Grand Cleric Elthina's memorial, but I would be a fool not to see that there is an underlying motive," Vael said in a knowing tone.

Hawke didn't bother to deny the claim, but instead called for a servant to bring them two glasses of wine before ordering the servant to the chamber and shut door behind him. He waited a few minutes to make sure the servant was gone before he spoke.

"Caen and Barcelona have fallen," Hawke said deadpan, "the Queen's army is but a day's travel from the capital itself."

Sebastian's eyes widened before taking a sip of his wine, "She moves fast, that is for sure." Caen and Barcelona where both well-fortified cities that even the paltry men that they called their city guards could defend against far superior numbers. "They surrendered without a fight?"

"Threw open the gates and the city councils got down on their knees and begged for mercy," he shook his head, " I guess her dealings with the late Prince Leon has them shaking in their boots. Of course my sources tell me the old king is doing everything he can to ready his city for a siege."

The Prince nodded as if a great puzzle had been solved. "King Castlen has recruiting mercenaries like mad from all over the Free Marches… the Thousands Swords, the Sons of Stone, the White Company, the Red Scars and other less known bands… not quite an army," he said with a shrug.

"Fool," Hawke said with a shake of his head, "they are more likely sack the city then surrender it rather than defend it when they see the size of the Ferelden army," he gave the Prince a hard look, "but the man is right about one thing. The Ferelden Queen is a danger and must be stopped… I need your help to do that."

"Ahh so the real reason you invited me here," the Prince responded with a world weary smile, "What is it that you require?"

The Viscount took a deep breath gathering his words, "I have been in communication with the leaders of Ansburg, Hercinia and Ansburg," he started listing off the City-States that where the closest to Kirkwall.

"For what purpose?"

"To build a coalition of nations to oppose Cecilia," Hawke said, "should, once she is finished devouring Antiva, turn her gaze westward towards Kirkwall and the rest of the Free Marches."

"A coalition," he repeated with a frown, "you do realize that even with those cites support you still will not be able to assemble an army large enough to challenge Cecilia… especially if her husband-to-be brings Orlais into the fight."

"I have no intention of confronting her on the open field," Hawke assured his old friend as he stood and headed over to a tightly packed book case, removed a tightly rolled map from off the top of the case and headed back towards the glossy marble table.

The map Hawke unfurled was a map of the Free Marches with Kirkwall most prominently shown at the center. Pointing towards 'east' on the map Hawke drew Sebastian's attention, "Unless she plans to lead her army over the mountains there is only one way through the Vimmark to get to the rest of the Free Marches is to go through Kirkwall and the only way through Kirkwall is through the Wounded Coast."

"A natural bottleneck," the Prince said drily probably remembering there many trips to the coast, "and at what a lovely location."

"Exactly… with a few thousand men I can hold off a much larger force for a very long time," Hawke explained, "and once she has broken upon the coast… perhaps we can throw her back across the Waking."

The Prince gave his friend an astounded look, "Listen to yourself. What make you think she has any designs after Antiva? If history shows us anything it is that holding a conquered country is much harder than actually conquering it."

"You do not know her," Hawke said through gritted teeth, "If we do not stand against what will stop her?"

"The Divine for one," Sebastian countered arching his eyebrow, "The queen may… and I stress may have had casus belli to invade Antiva, but an unjustified invasion of an Andrastian nation would never be allowed. The Divine would excommunicate her if she tried something so brazen."

"Are you so sure," Hawke said harshly, "the current Divine is cousin to Celene I of Orlais and Cecilia is soon to be her daughter. You do not think that the Empress would protect her son's wife-to-be and the culmination of all her hopes of returning Ferelden to the imperial fold?"

Sebastian stood and made as if to wash his hands of this whole mess. He fixed the Viscount with a pointed glare, "I have heard enough of this Garret. This is not about Kirkwall or the Free Marches… it is about Seia and Carver."

Hawke felt his chest tighten painfully at the mere mention of their names and he looked away. Seia Commena and Carver… his dead wife and his son. Seia had been from a noble family in Ansburg and was meant to strengthen the ties between the two cities; he hadn't expected to fall in love with her. She had given him a son whom he had named after his little brother who had fallen to an ogre while fleeing from the Blight.

Many years ago, though it to him just seemed like a fortnight his wife had been visiting cousins in Ostwick when then Princess Cecilia Theirin had laid siege to the city on behalf of the ousted Lord John de Montfort. What had been a successional crisis between the two most powerful families in Ostwick, the de Monforts and Griffiths, had turned bloody when de Monfort went for a foreign power for aid.

When the new Marquis refused to step down Princess Cecilia stormed the ancient city. When the sun set on that bloody day his wife and son had been amongst the dead. When the bodies were turned to him he was told that they were killed by the Griffith's men before the city fell. He had never believed them for less than six months before the Princess had presented him with an offer to add Kirkwall to her father's kingdom and then knights and soldiers to make it so. He had told her no… and his wife and son had paid the prince for his arrogance.

"I am sorry," he heard Sebastian say bringing him back from his memories. "I should not have said that Hawke. I know your pain, but trust me vengeance does not make the pain go away. It just makes you do stupid…" he trailed off mid-sentence. Slowly the Prince turned to face him, "Garret I am not sure how to ask this but I feel that I must… did you hire the Crows?"

Garret Hawke Champion and Viscount of Kirkwall said nothing.

XXX

Antiva City was the beating heart of the nation. A sprawling city of immense wealth, amongst the richest and was as well-fortified as any city in Thedas. The wall had been strengthened and its defenses enhanced after the city had been nearly destroyed when it fell to the darkspawn horde some four hundred years ago in the Fourth Blight.

Now Antiva City was ringed by ten meter thick wall and dotted with dozens of towers that even the faithless sellswords and meager Royal Constabulary could defend for weeks or perhaps months. The Queen's army would shatter upon them like rain against a stone… or at least that was what the king was telling everyone.

Hector waited in the home of the self-styled Lord Vincent for the Merchant Prince to return for one of his meetings with the Merchant's Guild. The assassin stood in front of the hearth letting the fire warm him. Despite the nerve wracking sensation in the pit of his stomach he felt relaxed to be able to rest and eat real food again. He'd been on the run for so long it felt good to slow down.

The Crow wasn't sure if 'Lord' Vincent was a member of the Order but so far he had seemed a friend and the Old Man of the Mountain had believed him trustworthy. Picking an apple from the bowl on the table he bit into it before taking a seat in one of the plush stuffed chairs. For a brief second he considered asking the Merchant Prince if he required the services of an agent, but decided against… he had sworn to see this through, however it ended.

The door swung open and in strode the portly Lord Vincent dressed in the finest Orlesian silks with shining golden and silverite chains dangling about his neck and large rings embedded with sapphires, emeralds and diamonds adorned his fingers. When he spotted Hector he gave him a wave telling him to remain seated.

"My friend," he said as he plucked a bottle of Abresso brandy from atop the hearth and poured two glasses. Handing one to Hector he slapped the assassin on the shoulder, "I have good news my friend."

He sat up straighter at this. Finally… he sighed internally. The hour was growing late and the Queen's army was on the horizon and closing fast. It was only a matter of time before Cecilia's horsemen closed in around the city cutting of the land approaches. With the harbor blockaded by the Fereldan navy the city would be completely besieged and surrounded.

It was possible that the other coastal cities could have summoned enough naval strength to break the blockade, but the other cities had deserted the crown and some of them had even sent riders to announce their fealty to Cecilia. No help was coming from the north. It seemed the whole of the country was like a house of cards and the Queen of Ferelden had just knocked down one of the base supports.

After a few seconds spent sipping on his brandy he announced, "You would not believe the trouble I had to go through to get this information, friend. Whoever arranged this had more intermediaries than the Chantry has priests," he paused and then laughed at his own joke.

"So you have a name," Hector asked eager to be out of this city as soon as possible.

"I do… his name is Threnhold … Lord Alexander Threnhold of Kirkwall," the merchant said with an air of pride about him, "Does that name mean anything to you?"

It did. Perrin Threnhold had been Viscount of Kirkwall before Marlowe Dumar. Threnhold had been killed by Knight-Commander Meredith after he had tried to eject the Templar Order from the city. Despite the loss of prestige the Threnhhold family had still held power in the city.

"Why would a Threnhold or Kirkwall want the Queen of Ferelden dead," Hector responded just about as confused as he could be. He had been sure that it had been arrange by the Queen to give herself a just cause to invade Antiva.

Vincent leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees. His lips twitch in a small little quirk, "Apparently the Threnhold family and their scion is currently in good with the current who as you might know is no friend of our dear Cecilia."

"They have had disagreements… yes, but why would he wish her dead," he questioned.

"It is not well known but according to rumors the Viscount's wife and son were in Ostwick when it fell," he shrugged, "no one but the Queen and her men known for sure what happened, but needless to say they never left Ostwick alive."

Eyes wide Hector queried, "So it was Threnhold who hired the Crows on behalf of the Viscount?"

The Merchant Prince shrugged and made a palms up gesture, "I have no idea of course it is possible than Threnhold may be in the service of two masters or maybe only one or perhaps he is out for himself. The Thernhold family is a shipping magnate… I have business with him myself and I also know that he has trading contracts with the cities of Highever, Amaranthine and Denerim; plus he was at the Grand Tourney in Ferelden before all this mess started."

So a man had both a vengeful Viscount and known connections to Ferelden. So perhaps it was Threnhold arranged for the assassination on behalf of his liege lord, arranged it on his own with the intent of laying the blame at Hawke's feet in order claim the throne of Kirkwall, or played his lord's desire for vengeance against him for the purpose of giving the Queen of Ferelden just cause for her invasion.

The latter of which would mean that he had either entered into her services secretly or it was a mere alliance of convenience. Either way it meant that his next stop was the city of Kirkwall and Viscount Garret Hawke. He just hoped he could convince the Champion of Kirkwall that one of his nobles was plotting against him or at the very least take vengeance on Threnhold for the death of his brothers.

"Anyway if I were you I would leave tonight," the Merchant Prince interrupted his revelry. Hector snapped to look at him, eyebrow raised. "My fortunes depend on me keeping in good with the current ruler… whether through bribes, information or other means." He tapped the nightstand, "Once Cecilia takes this city I will have a narrow window to her earn favor."

Hector didn't like the sound of that one bit and ventured a guess, "You mean to tell the Queen everything you just told me."

He shrugged, "I am sorry my friend, but that is the way the game is played," he sighed, "I have a horse waiting for you in the stables… it's a fine breed and a good runner."

Like it or not the Crow understood where the Merchant Prince was coming from. He stood and thanked the man before turning and leaving. He exited the merchant's mansion and headed for the stables. He would be on his way for Kirkwall before first light.

XXX

"You summoned," an icy female voice cut through the air.

Cecilia didn't acknowledge the witch and continued to stare at the checkered board laid before her. She glanced up at her opponent, her old friend and General Ser Markus Tiberius. She gave the general a smile, "You are getting better," she said as she moved her knight forward, "Checkmate."

Tiberius stared at the board for several long seconds before slamming an armored fist down on the board sending all the pieces flying. He stood quickly knocking the chair down as he did and growled angrily… he didn't like to loose and Cecilia knew that. "My Queen," he said with a bow and then left the pavilion and she watched him leave with a smile.

One the general had left Cecilia turned to the witch, "Take seat," she ordered.

The witch carefully moved along the inside wall of the tent watching the queen the way a rabbit eyes a wolf. Reaching the chair she gently righted the chair and seated herself in the chair. Morrigan looked up and met her eyes… ice blue met the witch's golden and the witch held the queen's gaze… but only for a second before glancing away.

"What do you want with me," Morrigan finally asked.

"You are heading back to Ferelden," Cecilia answered and saw Morrigan's head snapped up and her eyes were full of confusion, "Dakrak will be taking you to the Soldier's Peak… a trust you have heard of it."

Morrigan nodded, "A Grey Warden fortress your mother lead use to during the Blight," a black eyebrow cocked, "from what I remember she never gave it back."

"No she did not," the Queen confirmed. The Peak as it was often called was a castle built up the mountains along the Northern coast of Ferelden. The castle had been built to serve as the headquarters of the Grey Warden's in Ferelden and not to protect any land or territory. That was why the castle was tucked away in the mountains, hidden and forgotten from the rest of the world. It made a perfect site for Cecilia to conduct some of the less savory experiments that needed to be conducted. "I need you there to finish the work a mage called Avernus started."

"Avernus…," Morrigan said with a start, "I thought the old warden would have died years ago."

Cecilia shrugged, "I know many things, but death cannot be avoided forever. I had hoped he would finish his work before he passed, but it was no so. Unfortunately for me the research can only be conducted by a mage of some power."

"What do these… experiments consist of," Morrigan ventured warily.

Tapping the desk several times she added, "Do not worry these experiments are on the darkspawn. I am sure Avernus's notes will more than explain the details… Dakrak enter!"

"Have I no say in this," the witch bit back bitterly not doubt once more regretting her involvement.

"No you do not," Cecilia said with a chuckle before the dwarf entered. Lifting her gaze from the witch she focused on the dwarf, "Dakrak pick ten men of the Sovereign's Own and escort Morrgian back to Ostwick and from there across the sea to Soldier's Peak."

The dwarf hesitated for a second before bowing low, "Yes my Queen," he said and moved next to the witch, "Come with me."

Morrigan gave the queen an evil stare before allowing herself to be lead out the tent. Once they had left the pavilion Cecilia called for a servant and instructed him to clean up the fallen game pieces. As the young elf did as ordered Cecilia strapped her sword and scabbard to her sword belt and tucked her helm in the crook of her left arm. She exited the Royal Pavilion and squinted as the rays of the sun shined right in her eyes.

Once they adjusted she let her gaze sweep over the field. Antiva City stood proudly in front of her even as it was surrounded by her army. All around the Antivan capital fluttered the banners of her and her nobles as they dug trenches in the earth and constructed simple palisade watch towers cutting off the city from the rest of Thedas. So far Cecilia was not impressed by the Antivans. Any sensible commander would be sending out harrying parties to harass the besiegers before they were completed with their earthen works.

The Antivan king on the other hand kept all his men penned up in the city waiting for an attack. Cecilia frowned as she studied the walls of the old city. Despite the lackluster performance of the Antivan 'armies' these walls were no joke and she would prefer not to hurl her armies into the teeth of the city's defenses. The two cites she had come across so far had surrendered soon after her appearance, but she didn't think old King Castlen wouldn't surrender… no in fact the king wouldn't surrender. His son's death made sure of it… just as she had wanted.

Cecilia needed a victory one… a decisive victory to well in doubts about her conquest. A decisive and absolute victory here would cow the northern cities into submission and frighten the southern into obedience. Still she would have this victory with as little Ferelden blood shed as possible. If she feed her army into the grinder here even if she won her illusion of invincibility would be shattered.

A glance over her right shoulder revealed men-at-arms and siege engineers hard at work building the foundations of siege towers and covered battering rams. When built the towers would stand three man lengths over the top of the wall allowing the crossbowmen stationed on the tower top to rain deadly bolts down on the defenders as the tower was maneuvered into position. Once there the ramp could be lowered onto the walls and the bloody butcher's work could begin.

The ram once finished would be a large wheeled triangular structure covering in wet animal hides to prevent it from being set alight by flaming munitions. Inside the main structure was a large log cut down from the surrounding forest supported by chains. Ideally the head of the log would be capped by steel, most often a ram, a wolf or a dragon's head to deliver that extra destructive blow to a gate, wall or whatever it was rolled up next too.

As she looked over the city one more time she felt a thrill run through her. This would be a challenge and there was nothing she loved more than a good challenge. Glancing over her shoulder she let a wicked smile play of her beautiful features… Tiberius was good at kings, perhaps even better than good, but he still wasn't good enough to challenge her. She glanced back at the city… maybe she would find a challenge here.

XXX

Darkness had fallen over the land which made it easier for Prince Charles to lead a small party of men to scout the walls for any weaknesses. On the queen's command he was leading a small party of Orlesian and Ferelden chevaliers and knights looking for any place from which to assault the city… so far he hadn't found one.

"Prince Charles," one of the Queen's Men, a Ser Raymond, hissed as he tugged on the reigns of his horse while drawing his sword, "a rider approaches."

Charles turned in his saddle and saw a single cloaked figure riding away from the city. With a swift look upwards he thanked the Maker that he had granted them a moonless night. Raising an armored his he ordered, "Stand fast."

Obediently the knights and chevaliers remained put, but every single one of them drew their blades nonetheless warily observing the intruder as it rode towards them. Charles on the other hand half drew his sword so the glint of the metal was visible. Taking a deep breath he called out loud enough to be heard by the rider but not loud enough to alert the men on the wall, "In the name of the Queen make yourself known!"

The rider held up his right hand palm open showing he held no weapon. With that same hand he then pulled back on the cowl of his hood revealing a youngish looking man with a rakish smile, "Peace my prince I come to parley with Queen Cecilia not trade sword blows."

Charles regarded the man coly before fully sheathing his blade. The Prince of Orlais gave the man a piercing look and growled, "And your name Ser?"

"Ser Jonah de Cologne my Prince," the man replied thumping his fist on his chest in salute, "I command the Thousand Swords."

The Prince narrowed his eyes. The Counts of Cologne were a noble family who held a castle in far north of the empire and were often considered the realm's first line of defense against Neverra. They were a well-respected family an currently in the Empress's favor at court… what were one of their sons doing here.

As if sensing his doubt the man pulled out a piece of parchment and handed off to the closest knight who passed it to the Prince. The de Cologne smiled and bowed his head, "My patent of nobility."

Carefully the Prince unrolled the document and inspected the coat of arms. It seemed real enough, but that could be determined later if need be. Putting the patent in his saddle bag motioned to his men, "What business do you have with Cecilia?"

Even as he said it he knew he had made an error in referring to the Queen with such familiarity in front of those of lesser. Internally he kicked himself especially when Ser Raymond gave him a pointed glare and the other knights titled their heads in an inquisitive manner.

"I wish to discuss terms for the…," the man paused no doubt mulling over his next few words, "the 'surrender' of Antvia City."

Intrigued Charles considered his offer, but him he knew the decision would be Cecilia's and not his to make. "We take him to the Queen," he commanded. Raymond barked an order and the men formed up.

Charles took his position at the head of the small column with Ser Raymond on his right with the rest of the knights and chevaliers formed a circle around Ser Jonah as they escorted him back towards the encampment belonging to the Sovereign's Own.

They were intercepted by Ser Edward and a handful of knights and men-at-arms on patrol. Charles briefly explained the situation and the knight quickly escorted them into the heart of the encampment. When they reached the Royal Pavilion Charles and the men dismounted passing through the gauntlet of armored men standing guard over their Queen's tent.

After a quick challenge the men-at-arms let him, Ser Edward, Ser Raymond, Ser Renly and the alleged Ser Jonah de Cologne. The rest of the men Ferelden Knights and Orlesian Chevaliers would have to wait outside the Pavilion until they were summoned.

"Well, well Prince Charles, what have we here," Cecilia's voice sounded throughout the pavilion. The Queen of Ferelden stood behind a large table on which was a large intricately drawn map. On her left and right were the 'Bastard' Tiberius and her uncle Teyrn Fergus the Lord of Highever.

"Ser Jonah de Cologne commander of the Thousand Swords," Charles informed his betrothed after he had given the man a kick to the back of the leg to send him to his knees, "he wished to discuss the terms of surrender."

"A sellsword… wonderful," the Teyrn scoffed, "A sellout trying to save his own hide by turning in his fellows. Send him away my Queen and let us return to the business at hand."

For a moment Charles saw de Cologne flinch and his roguish grin slid from his face and replaced by fear. No doubt this wasn't how he envisioned it in his mind when he planned. Charles felt a brief burst of satisfaction at the man's worry, but it didn't last long.

"Easy uncle," Cecilia said in that disarming tone of hers, "You know as well as I do that more battles, more sieges have been won or lost because of traitors," she turned back towards the sellsword, "continue Ser de Cologne."

The man cleared his throat, "I come on behalf of the Merchant's Guild and myself. As it stands Antiva's fall is all but certain. There is nothing King Castlen can do to stop you should you decide to storm the city and his own lords have abandoned him to you. He made be mad enough to think that five thousand men may be enough to hold you back, but I and they are not."

"That is wise of them," Cecilia intoned emotionlessly, her ice blue bored into the kneeling knight causing him to fidget nervously.

"Well yes and… with the assistance of my swords we wish to ensure the city falls with the minimal amount of innocent blood shed," he paused taking a visible breath, "in return you're your binding oath that there will be no rapine of the city's people or her wealth I will have my men seize one of the gates and open them for you; the guild will also gift to you two tons of gold to pay for your campaign."

That got Charles undivided attention two tons of gold could would pay for this campaign two may three times over, the Merchant's Guild must truly be fearful, still the phrase that 'it was easier to separate a mother from her nursing babe than an Antivan Merchant from his gold' came to mind. "That is quite a sum even for the Merchant Princes of Antiva to conjure up."

The man chuckled, "I assume that their lives are worth more than their gold. If their city remains intact and their caravans remain unmolested they gave earn back what they have surrendered to you. In their minds I suppose it is the best way to survive with their riches and positions intact."

"What of the other mercenary groups," Tiberius grumped, "the Sons of Stone, the White Company? Will they surrender as well?"

De Cologne's lip twitched, "They may once they see you have breathed the gates… after all money is no good to a dead man. However I worry they may fear your wrath for opposing you and fight to the last rather than suffer."

There was silence in the pavilion for several long moments before Cecilia spoke. Her voice cutting through the silence like a knife through butter, "And what do you gain from all of this?"

It was a rather pointed question and Charles immediately knew that it had been the right question to ask by the way the knight shuffled on his knees, "A lord's ransom in gold," he admitted but quickly added, "but if I may be so bold gold I have aplenty and do not need."

The Queen titled her head reminding her of a wolf sizing up its prey, "Then what do you want Jonah de Cologne?"

The man took a deep breath as if to calm himself but his words came out in a rush, "As you may or may not know I am the fifth son of my father. In Orlais have a no future prospects for greatness. I will never inherit my father's land and I have no desire to simply become a knight in another lord's service. When you stand victorious you will need men to hold down this land and I would offer you my services."

The Queen nodded her eyes not leaving him, "So it is land and I title you desire… so be it. Deliver me this city and you will have your land and title. I accept your proposition. I will however have your oath now."

Charles watched as the man propped himself up on one knee and hung his head low, "I Jonah de Cologne, Son of Aaron de Cologne, Count of Cologne and Protector of the North do herby pledge the fealty of me and my progeny to you and yours until the unmaking of the world. I swear this oath on my life…"

"No," the Queen snapped firmly shocking almost everyone in the room, "not on your life, but your soul."

He paused looking up at her before again bowing his head, "I swear this oath on my soul and may the Maker damn me if I ever break it."

Cecilia nodded slowly, "I will not forget this Lord Cologne."

The words had a double meaning, Charles thought drily as he looked down at the man. Cecilia wouldn't forget that he helped her, but if de Cologne was lying or betrayed her in any way she wouldn't forget that either. The way she stared at him brought back memories of a wolf and its prey.

Slowly the man made to stand as if he expected another blow. When none fell he stood warily retrieving a envelope from the inside of his jacket and held it in his hand. Hesitantly he started, "If you accepted the Guild's offer I was to present you with two pieces of information."

"Go on," the Queen prodded.

"The first is that two nights ago King Castlen sent out a detachment of his most trusted men disguised as a merchant caravan headed for Kirkwall," de Cologne started before clearing his throat, "they protect the Princess Anna and the young Prince James as they flee from you."

By the way the Queen's eyes narrowed and her lip twitched upward she was pleased. "And the other piece of information?"

He held out the envelope and without prompting or hesitation Charles snatched the letter from Jonah de Cologne and walked the short distance until he was within arm's reach. Cecilia acknowledged him with curt nod and a slight smile.

Without hesitation she drew a long knife from her belt and broke the seal on the envelope. He watched her take out the letter and began to read. Whatever it was wasn't good, he could tell that simply by the way her jaw tighten.

The Prince spared the soon-to-be lord a glance and forced down a laugh. He was nervous… Charles could tell that even without the evidence of the sweat pouring down his face or the way he couldn't quite stand still. It was also obvious from his movements he had no idea what was in the letter.

Once finished Cecilia turned tossed the letter into the brazier and addressed him, "See it he makes it back to the city… and Cologne…"

"My Queen?"

In a deathly calm voiced that sent shivers down the spine of everyone in the tent," You have a fortnight before I burn the city to the ground."

XXX

Cecilia was pleased… as a matter of fact beyond pleased with the turn of events. Antiva City would fall to her might and she wouldn't have to squander such might upon the walls of the great city. Still, she mused, she would continue to build the siege engines in case the deal fell apart, but that was no longer her greatest concern now.

The first message had been welcome. She already had plans for the princess and her infant brother. The second message was however not well received. According to one of the Merchant Princes… a man who styled himself as 'Lord' Vincent the assassin who had twice escaped her, once at Denerim and then again at Gilbran, was to riding to Kirkwall.

Perhaps she could kill two birds with one stone. Lifting her gaze to Ser Raymond whom she had commanded to wait after the others had left she said, "Gather as many men as you deem necessary and head off towards Kirkwall. Find the princess and the young prince and bring them to me alive… the rest I have no need of."

Raymond thumped his armored chest in salute, "It will be done."

"And one more thing… the Crow who as twice eluded us may be with them. If you should find him bring him to me so I may exact my revenge… however I would appreciate a bloody corpse just as much," she finished with a wolfish grin.

The knight returned the wolfish gin with one of his own before he bowed and left to carry out his sovereign's command. Once he too had left Cecilia saw General Tiberius turn to her his weathered face bearing confusion.

"Why do you seek the princess returned to you alive," he asked darkly his hand dropping down to pat his greatsword, "better exterminate the Antivan Royalty rather than let them live to formant rebellion against your rule in the future."

Fergus Cousland didn't reply to the general's draconic suggestion he simply looked away. No doubt he had no wish to kill children, but his silence told her he thought it the most sensible solution. However that was not what Cecilia had in mind for the princess.

She had something more useful planned, "No general she is not to be harmed. When the emperor Florian conquered our homeland he made the mistake of treating us like vermin. The tighter we squeeze the more unrest we will create. We must give them a reason to feel safe," the wolfish grin returned, "to pull them to our bosom until it is too late for them to resist. To that end how is young Gawain and Gwendolyn?"

Fergus Cousland Teyrn of Highever titled his head apparently thrown by the shift of topic. For one Gawain Cousland wasn't so little anymore he had reached his sixteenth year last summer and was now serving as a squire to one of Arl Chester's knights. Gawain and Gwen, his female twin, were her Uncle's only children and consequently fourth and third in line for the throne.

"He is well and on his way to earning his spurs and Gwen is back in Highever managing the Teyrnir in my absence… she is growing into quite a wise ruler. I have no doubt Highever will be in good hands when I pass," the Teyrn's narrowed, "Why do you ask?"

With the knife she had used as a letter opener still in her hands she lifted it and drove it into the map over the city of Caen, "I want your son to rule as Teyrn of Southern Antvia," she said with a smile on her face.

The utter shock that played over her maternal face nearly made her laugh, but even through his shock she could see he understood what her offer meant. The Cousland family would control more land than any other family in the kingdom… even more so if the crown's lands were included. His daughter would rule Highever and the northern coast of Ferelden while his son held southern Antiva across the Waking Sea.

It wasn't an offer he couldn't refuse and she knew as much. "To further legitimize his claim to the South he will wed the Princess, heir to the Antvian throne… with your approval of course."

Fergus nodded mulling over her words and Tiberius was looking pleased as well. The general knew of the difficulties of holding down the land. The marriage of the princess to her cousin would help legitimize his rule in the eyes of the Chantry and the surrounding lands. It would also serve to appease the Antivan nobility and keep the riffraff calm.

"I would have to speak to Gawain of course," the Cousland whispered, "I will of course convince him to accept for offer. This does however require the princess alive and unharmed. How reliable is this man of yours… Ser Raymond?"

"Loyal, faithful if not particular imaginative," she with confidence, "the type of man who will not balk at any order I would give to him no may how distasteful it might seem. He will do whatever is necessary to accomplish his objective. Have no fear in that."

"By your leave my Queen," he said after several long minutes of silence, "I would like confer with my son before any of this is set in stone."

"Of course uncle I would think otherwise," she intoned as he bowed and exited the Royal Pavilion.

She kept the smile on her face as he took his leave. Once gone she turned back to the Tiberius, "I want you to continue your preparations to storm the walls. If the traitor fails to deliver on his promise I still want to be ready."

Tiberius cocked an eyebrow, "And if he delivers as promised?"

"Even then we will still need to launch diversionary assaults along the walls to draw their attention away from the main gates," she said determinedly. She knew the moment Jonah de Cologne's men threw open the gates the entire city would know her plan. She needed to keep as many men pinned down as she could while she drove towards the city center and the palace.

XXX

Tiberius understood what the when was saying. Once they gates were open the city would fall but the defenders could still wreak havoc on the attacking army if they were able to marshal a quick enough defense. After those gates opened there would be no doubt as to where the attack was coming from and the Antvians could mass their men to meet it head on.

By launching attacks with the towers, ladders, and rams on the other walls and gates they would force the defenders to stand their ground while Cecilia lead the heart of her army towards the palace where Jonah de Cologne and the bulk of his thousand swords should be waiting for her.

After the Royal Palace fell the rest of the defenders should surrender without much of a fight… after all to a sellsword what was the point of fight if your employer was dead. Once that happened the city was theirs and all that remained was to mop the rest of the defenders.

"One last thing," Teyrn Cousland said, "Once this is over Gawain will rule as Teyrn in the south, but who will hold dominion over the Northern lands… or will you take them for the crown."

That was a good question. Whoever was granted rule of the north of Antiva would become one of the most powerful men in the realm and a potential threat. The man or woman she chose to rule over the north would have to be trustworthy and loyal.

Tiberius mused through the candidates in his head. There was Arl Chester of the West Hills a good and loyal man. He was a great warrior and good manager of his own lands and was amongst the most loyal man in the kingdom. However the man was more than content with his castle and lands in the West Hills.

After all, his grandfather father had built that castle to protect against invasion from the growing power of Olais when Ferelden was still in its infancy. His grandfather had died defending the castle from a raid of warring Avaar barbarians and his father had fallen to the armies of Orlesian Chevaliers during their invasion. If he knew anything about the current Arl of the West Hills would rather part with his legs and arms than part with his ancestral castle.

That left Arl Tegan of Redcliffe. The Arl was Cecilia's great uncle through her father and had been the brother of Queen Rowan the wife of King Maric. He was faithful, a superb administrator and well loved by his people. He was also blood kin to the Queen and when it came down to it he supposed that made him more viable of a candidate.

After those two there weren't many other men or women of high station to whom the position was suited. There were several members of the Bannorn who might be considered worthy enough but he doubted Cecilia would elevate a mere Bann to ruler the North for her.

Refocusing his gaze on his Queen he waited for her to announce her choice… she said nothing. Tiberius tightened his jaw; perhaps he'd missed it during his internal musings, but she simply continued to observe him with an amused look on her face.

Confused Tiberius looked at Fergus who was looking just as confused as he was. Suddenly a terrible, horrible thought hit him square in the chest. She didn't mean him… did she? Clearing his throat he almost hesitantly which in and of itself was highly unusual for him asked, "You mean me?"

The Teyrn of Highever's head snapped from Tiberius back to the Queen, "You mean him?"

Again her amused smile was all that greeted a stunned Ser Markus Tiberius. He had always prided himself on knowing the mind of his Queen and more often than not he'd been right. This time however he had been caught by surprise.

XXX

The ring of steel and the shouts of men and women locked in combat drifted up from the parade ground. From his position overlooking the field Viscount Hawke watched as his army trained for the battle that was sure to come.

Kirkwall's army was small when compared to that of her more powerful neighbor. Ironically enough that had been because ever since the Divine Age Kirkwall had been a fiefdom of the Knights of the Temple Circle and under their de facto if not de jure rule. The Templars had kept Kirkwall's own armies small and therefore that easier to control.

The expansion of the Home Guard of Kirkwall as it called began under the late Viscount Thernhold and had continued under Dumar before his death and the guard's near extermination during the Qunari uprising. Upon his ascendency to the throne of Kirkwall he had taken steps to rebuild the Home Guard to a point beyond its former status… and now it was.

Though it was less than five thousand strong they were well trained, well armored and armed. Each man and women stood in full plate armor and equipped with a halfhelm. Some of the men carried a longsword and a heavy shield, other's carried a halberd and a short sword, while still others carried a powerful steel crossbow with a large convex shield ,called a pavise, meant to protect them against enemy arrows while the bowman reloaded.

The only thing in which his army was sorely lacking… apart from numbers was horse. There were less than a hundred horsemen he could field and even though they were every bit as armored and armed as their Ferelden counterparts they were not their equals.

A knight was trained from the time he was old enough to raise a sword in the martial arts and horsemanship. His entire life consisted of training for war, in preparing for the moment when he liege lord would call upon him to bring death and mayhem to his foes. To the nobles in Kirkwall tourneys and mêlées were simply a game, something to take the edge of the repetitiveness of everyday life. To the Fereldans it was practice for the battle; a dress rehearsal of sorts for war.

In the open field Cecilia's knights would massacre his horse and grind his foot beneath their hooves. In open was she had the weight of numbers, the shear mass of her knightly charge and maneuverability that he couldn't hope to match. The only advantages he had were the terrain and the fact that he could pick the battle if… when it came to blows.

Still if she came with her entire host he knew she could sweep him away into the sea. No, he said internally she couldn't muster her whole might against him. She would need to leave a significant force to garrison her newly conquered lands.

He like any good Fereldan knew of the Battle of the Hot Gates during the initial stages of the Orlesian invasion of Ferelden. In that battle a few hundred good men had held off a force much larger than their own for a long time. While their sacrifice was ultimately in vain the battle was the proof-of-concept for his own plan.

In truth he didn't need to destroy the Ferelden army he just had to bloody the Queen's noise. Once he'd proven she could be beat the other cities of the Free Marches would rally `to his banner. He didn't even have to win. All he had to do was not loose and that was another reason he couldn't sit behind his walls and wait for her.

He couldn't be seen to be covering or that would risk everything he had gained. Plus if he committed himself to a siege all she had to do was sit and starve him out. What made Kirkwall's harbor such a great harbor and so easy to defend would make it that much easier for her to blockade.

Tightening his right hand he glanced down at the piece of parchment in his hand. The piece of parchment had been a letter delivered by a messenger some three days ago bearing the royal seal of the King of Antiva. The letter had been a plea from the King to protect his daughter and infant son should the worst befall him and his kingdom. From what he had heard it looked like the worst was about to happen in Antiva.

Common sense would dictate he refuse the kings plea and turn the approaching caravan away when it arrived, but he couldn't do that. He wouldn't throw two children back to the dragon and her wolves if there was anything he could do to stop it. He had all but set himself and Kirkwall against Cecilia in the eyes of the world… this would finalize it. By protecting the rightful heirs to the Antivan throne he been seen as fermenting rebellion against her rule.

"Viscount," an elderly and frail sounding voice said from behind him.

Hawke knew the voice of the man standing beside him. It was the voice belonging to one of the few men he could honestly call a friend. He turned and was Lord Threnhold standing behind him. The old wisp of a man looked like a strong breeze could blow him over but the frailness of his body did nothing to hid the intelligence that lurked behind those dark eyes of his.

"Alexander my friend," Hawke sighed as he looked back out over his army, "what news do you have?"

"The caravan has been sighted about a day and a half from our border. Once they enter our land we can send out riders to escort them to the city," the Threnhold said in a tone that made it clear he didn't approve in aiding them. "Hawke if you are my friend then consider my advice…"

Grounding his teeth Hawke slammed his armored fist into the stone railing, "No," he shouted before spinning and pointing an accusing finger towards the nobleman, "No I will not use children as a political tools!"

"Be reasonable," Alexander Threnhold shouted back, "your duty is to protect the people of this city and that duty is not done by inviting the wrath of the Dragon of Ferelden down upon us. Do not let your thirst for vengeance damn this city," he sighed heavily, "these children are the key to Kirkwall's survival. You need to make peace will Cecilia and these children are the answer!"

"And what would she do to them," Hawke said his voice barely above a whisper thinking of his son and wife who had been killed in Ostwick at Cecilia's hands. The Queen's involvement had never been proven but Hawke was sure his wife and son had died if not by her hands then on her orders.

Threnhold was silent for a good long time before he spoke, "She might kill them, but I do not believe she will. They will more be useful to her alive as her wards and hostages for the good behavior of the Antivans… she might even force the girl to marry one of her vassals to cement her control over the country."

"I sorry Threnhold but I cannot in good conscience allow that," the Viscount of Kirkwall said tiredly.

Alexander Threnhold faced looked as if was made from stone. The son of Kirkwall's former ruler and a man who had lived through some of the city's most trying times looked simply defeated, "Maker help us all then."

XXX

The caravan Hector had managed to join up with was small as far as most caravans went but far more heavily guarded than any he had seen. There were at least thirty footmen in brigandine armor equipped with short swords and spears and another ten or so horsemen in chain mail all protecting a single carriage and two supply wagons.

It was obvious this was more than a simple caravan, but Hector wasn't sure what or more preciously they were supposed to be protecting as the people in the carriage almost never came out. It was also obvious they were in a hurry. Their party travelled from first light until the sun fell behind the mountains and they were unable to continue safely.

Hector was tired. He had ridden hard away from Antiva city before he met up with the caravan. Though the men had been initially distrustful of him Lord Vincent's letter had seemed to put them at ease. However the route they had chosen to take would had several days if not a week to their travel, but the road running along the Vinmark Mountains was the least traveled and therefore presented less of a chances in running into any Fereldans.

When the crescent moon had become high in the sky and the light had dimmed so much that you could barely see your hand in front of your face the commander of the guards called the group to a halt and ordered them to make camp. Hector watched from his position with the riders as half the guards moved off to collect firewood and set up the camp while the others stayed alert to guard against any potential threats to their charges. His letter from the Merchant Prince gave him the right or perhaps the ability to consort with the few officers in the group.

Still after the fire was going and the evening meal was eaten most of the men Hector among them settled in to get some sleep before it was there turn to take the watch. They still had a long journey a few more days of travel ahead of them and sleep was rare and precious. Heetor had just placed his head down on the mat when suddenly a man was waking him up for his shift.

Hector growled thinking that he could of add more than a few moments sleep and was about to tell the man off when he noticed the fire was nearly dead and the sliver of the moon was in a different place. Groggily he stood and wrapped his furs around him to ward of the chill of the mountain air.

With a bow, he appropriated from the caravan's meager armory, slung over his shoulder and his sword on his belt Hector moved to take watch with two other equally cold and tired men. They chatted with each other in low tones, mostly about the war and bitching about being up and on guard like all soldiers did.

Suddenly a low growl issued from behind him and he turned surprised to see the handful of dogs the caravan had brought with them alert and with hair on end. A quick glance at the horses and he saw they were on edge as well. Both dog and horse had caught the scent of something on the wind and didn't like it.

"Shut up you dumb mutt," one of the guards called from his bed roll.

Hector barely had time to think before dark shapes launched themselves with ferocious snarls at the men on watch. Drawing his sword he spun and thrust it forward as the shape collided with him. The force of the collision knocked him back onto his back. As he felt warm blood flow over his hands he saw for the first time what was attacking them… a Mabari Warhound and that meant the Fereldans had found them.

Pushing the hound's corpse off him he stood covered in the creature's blood as the shouts of battle reigned all around him. Of the two men he had been with one was grappling for his life with a hound that had a vise like grip on the man's bloody forearm as the soldier fought desperately to avoid a grizzly death. The second man was dead with his throat torn out by another Mabari.

A quick glance around told him the just how much trouble they were in. Without time to count he estimated there were some two dozen warhounds ravaging and tearing their way into the startled guards. The hounds working in small packs like their wolf cousins swarming and overpowering the men that had become their prey.

The hound that had killed the man on watch with him looked up with its muzzle dripping with the bright red blood as its hellish eyes locked with his revealing the intelligence that hid behind that gaze. Hector had always heard Mabari were highly intelligent animals; bred by Tevniter magisters as the legends went. He had never believed it until know that he was staring one straight in the eyes.

The hound began to stalk back and forth its eyes never leaving him even as the din of battle and the screams of dying men roared all around them. Holding his sword like a spear he kept it out protectively in front of him to keep the hound from leaping and mauling him.

Another roar sounded but this time it was from men, armored men on horseback. He had just enough time to see a dozen or more of the Queen's black armored knights charge in swords, maces, axes and morningstars held high ride in amongst the already embattled defenders… and began to slaughter them mercilessly.

Knowing he had little time Hector took the offensive and thrust his sword out intent on skewering the war dog, but it leapt to the side and lunged forward. Before the Crow could recover from his strike the hound snapped his jaws around his leg causing him to scream in pain. The hound's teeth easily tore through his riding pants his flesh, he could feel them scrap against his bone, heard a 'thump', a whimper of pain and the pressure on his leg was released.

The assassin took a step backward leaning on his good leg as the hound fell with a crossbow bolt in his flank. Hector glanced to the original of the projectile and saw the commander of the caravan holding a crossbow. Suddenly a glint of black appeared behind him and Hector shouted, "Watch out!"

It was however too late. By the time the officer processed his warning a Fereldan knight buried his war axe in the back of the man's head and continued riding towards him. His heart beating widely Hector stood his ground as the knight charged with his bloodied axe held overhead.

Hector felt like time was moving slower as he watched the armored man and horse advanced on him. Dirt flew from the impacts of the horse's hooves and steam wafted up from the mount's mouth and nose and from beneath knight's helm. The man's axe was long handled and at the top was a foot long crescent shaped blade covered in gore and blood.

With only a longsword and an injured Hector knew he needed luck to his side to survive this. He waited until the knight was close enough that he could see the engravings on the battleaxe head. He saw the knight cock back his arm and when he did Hector threw himself to the left slashing across his body with his sword as he did.

His target was not the man himself but his horse. The very tip of his sword struck the mount's right knee causing the beast to whinny in pain as its knee buckled and went down sending the knight head over heels into the mud. Before the black armored knight could rise Hector drove his blade in-between his helmet and breastplate.

And again for it seemed like it had become his lot in life he fled from the Queen of Ferelden's men. Fleeing into the forest as the knight and their warhounds butchered the guards. As he limped through the woods he became aware of a slight whimpering sound. After a brief internal debate he sent off in that direction and found a girl, well a young woman, dressed in fine clothes hiding behind a tree.

When she saw him her eyes went wide with fear and she opened her mouth to scream. Despite the pain in his leg he lunged forward clamping his gloved hand over the woman's mouth. "Shhhh," he hissed, "I am not here to hurt you."

She nodded fearfully and tearfully, "My…my brother he is just… just a baby," she whimpered.

Hector felt his guts churn but he knew there was nothing he could do, "I am sorry, but we need to get on," he said sorrowfully.

He took her by the hand and led her deeper forest and away from the carnage. It was only after the sounds of battle died off in the distance he realized that the young woman standing mutely following him clearly in shock did he realize who she was… it was Princess Anna the King of Antiva's eldest surviving child.

XXX

With a savage two handed swing of his longsword Ser Raymond Northman lopped off the head of his opponent and watched as the severed appendage fell to the ground with a sickly thump. The Knight of the Sovereign's Order glanced around at the ruined caravan and spotted the carriage.

Marching over he practically tore the door off his hinges and when he saw nothing was inside he cursed as he slammed the door shut and bellowed, "Find the girl!"

Beneath his helm Raymond growled and narrowed his steel colored eyes as he glanced amongst the bodies of the dead. His orders were to take the young princess alive if possible, but more importantly not to let her escape to possibly ferment rebellion at a later date.

"Raymond," his second in command Ser Robert Barethorn shouted testily from the back of his horse as he rode up upon his commander, "We have a problem!"

"Tell me that is not the girl," Raymond hissed still holding his bloody sword tight in his hand as he studied the feminine form draped lifelessly over the back of his horse and the small bloody bundle he held in the crook of his left arm.

The knight simply tossed the bloody misshapen bundle at Raymond's feet, "No it is not. The infant prince's wet nurse tried to run…" he said almost dead pan though there was a hint of sadism in his tone, "needless to say she did not make it very far and it did not end well for either."

"So you rode her down," Raymond said cocking his eyebrow even though the gesture was useless with his helm still on.

"They tried to escape," he retorted with a shrug

"The girl?"

"They split," Robert answered, "I do not know which way the girl went."

"We have to find her," Raymond spat sheathing his sword, "or at the least hunt her down and kill her… and before she gets to the borders of Kirkwall."

He like Robert and every other member of their company had been given strict orders not to cross the river Merz into the territory of the City-State of Kirkwall. He had no doubt she'd make the arrogant Garret Hawke of Kirkwall pay for his refusal of the Queen's terms and the fact that he was trying to rally the Free Marches against her, but she had made it clear that her revenge would wait for later.

Suddenly he had an idea. Stalking back up to the carriage he ripped open the door again and quickly ransacked the carriage until he found something that looked like it belonged to the Princess. Upon exiting the carriage he called, "Emile get your hounds."

The knight called Emile the Master of Hounds for the Sovereign's Own appeared with four of the biggest meaning looking Mabari in the pack. Raymond knelt down on one knee in front of the hounds and held up the pinkish gown he'd found. Without even needing an order the four hounds began sniffing the dress committing the sent to memory.

As they did that two knights appeared dragging a still breathing prisoner between them, "We have a problem," one of the faceless black knights added.

Raymond snorted, "Seems to be the day for it. What happened?"

"Karl is dead," the second knight hissed, "his killer seems to be missing but we have account for all the guards assigned to the caravan, but according his friend here tthey were joined by another man a few days ago. His description is most interesting," the knight who had been speak pushed the man forward,

Ser Raymond rested his hand on the pommel of his sword, "Unless you would like to join your friends… speak and do it quickly."

The Antivan did just that. Raymond actually had a hard time following the man's gibberish by the description he gave made the knight's blood burn in rage. It was that fucking assassin. The damn Crow just didn't know when to die and again it had made them look foolish. Raymond saw read and in less than a second his sword was clear of his sheath and the Antivan's head free of his shoulders.

"Damn the, damn them all to the black city," the knight hissed under his breath before bellowing, "Mount up we are going after the princess!"

XXX

Author's Note:

Review please and let me know what you like, what you don't like, etc and if you see any continuity errors.

BritBookWorm: Charles is about 25ish give or take a few years.


	9. Chapter 8

**Sorry this has taken so long but I've been busy getting ready to deploy to Afghanistan **

**1 meter is about 3 feet**

**The Dragon Queen: Beginnings **

Chapter 8: The Fall

Night had fallen across the land of Antiva. It was a cold, windy, lightless night as the brightness of the moon was nowhere to be seen. Some would consider the bleary night an ill omen and it some ways they were right for this night would see the end of the Kingdom of Antiva.

For the price of a lordship and the promise of restraint on the part of the Queen's armies the Orlesian born Jonah de Cologne, the head of the mercenary group the Thousand Swords, and the Merchant Guilds of the trading cartels had agreed to betray King Castlen of Antiva. Now was the appointed hour for said betrayal.

The night before this one a man of the Thousand Swords had snuck from the city to deliver the awaited message that the Orlesian had managed to get his men in position. The first and last battle for the capital of Antiva was about to begin and a nation was about to fall.

From the back of her black armored warhorse Cecilia Theirin Queen of Ferelden watched from the western approach to the unsuspecting city. Before her stood the massed might of the Sovereign's Order, ranks upon ranks of black armored men-at-arms and mounted knights. The darkness of their armor seemed to absorb what little light there was on this black night. Tonight they would be her vanguard, the very tip of the sword she thrust into the heat of Antiva.

Behind them were the men of the Free March City of Ostwick in their gleaming bronze colored armor and behind them still the armies of the Bannorn. When compared to the splendor and uniform nature of the Sovereign's Own, the Teyrn's household troops or even the men of Ostwick the armies of the lords of the Bannorn were as remarkably diverse as the banners they stood beneath.

As it was the duty of each bann to equip the fighting men under their command the appearances different from bann to bann. Most wore splint mail armor and steel half-helms while the richer bann's had their men in chainmail for better protection.

Her full might was arrayed in battle formation save a few hundred men left to leave the city in a ring of steel less anyone tried to feel before the battle was over. Those who remained behind were mainly her lighter troops, such as her elven auxiliaries, those who could mostly easily chase down fleeing enemies

Cecilia smiled savagely as she overlooked the city that was to take. Today she had a king to kill and a nation to lay low. Today marked the beginning of the end in her first stage of her grand designs. Now all they had to do was wait for the signal.

XXX

Under the cover of darkness Prince Charles and his Chevaliers along with a hundred handpicked men of the West Hills and their Arl moved silently towards the northern wall. These hundred men along with another hundred led by General Tiberius and Teryn Cousland , who were headed to the eastern wall, would be the very tip of the spear thrust into the city's heart.

As planned the 'van' would infiltrate the city, kill as many enemies as they could and drive as hard as they could towards the Antivan Royal Palace before the King's men and sellswords could respond. The idea was to provide a lethal distraction as the main army poured through the gates to carry the city.

"Alright bring the ladder here," the fearsome Arl of the West Hills hissed to the men carrying the large scaling ladder.

The knights slowly hoisted the siege ladder maneuvering their simplistic siege engine into position to prepare to storm the wall. The siege tower would have made it easier for the knights to storm the walls but it would also be far from subtle and alert the city as to their intent.

For this to work as planned they had to take the walls by surprise. The traitors within the city had given the maps of the deployments of the army within the walls. They had learned enough to realize that the walls were lightly and only sporadically patrolled at night. It was a stupid mistake that the defenders would so come to regret.

With the ladder in place Charles move to mount the ladder and begin his ascent toward the battlements when the Arl stepped in front of him. The burley Arl flashed the prince an amused smile, "Not on your life Orlesian," he said as placed his foot on the first step, "I am first."

The Prince chuckled and inclined his head, "As you wish."

Since their meeting those month ago at the Hot Gate the Arl of the West Hills had allowed his red hair and beard to grow long and that coupled with his hefty bearded axe looked more like the barbarian raiders of Ferelden's distant past than a knight and lord of the realm. In fact Charles would have sworn him to be one of the savages who still roamed the Frostback Mountains or in the Wilds of the far south, but for the quality of the red plated armor he now wore.

Charles was next following the Arl up the ladder towards the top of the wall. The wall protecting the were close to twelve meters enough for six fully armored and armored men to standing on the ladder at one time.

As the Arl reached the top he froze and Charles could see his fingers tighten around the grip of his axe which he held off to the side. The Prince of Orlais narrowed his eyes to better see out the visor of his helm. Up on top of the wall not three meters away Charles could see the light of a torch through the notches at the top of the battlements from a lone guard patrolling.

Under his breath Charles cursed as the light grew closer and slowly as not to create much sound he drew his sword. However there was nothing he could do but wait to see what the Arl would do as he was beyond sword reach.

Long seconds rolled by as nothing happened. Suddenly the man on the battlements froze as if he had spotted something. Inquisitively the guardsman leaned over the battlement his torch held out… it was the last thing he ever did.

The moment the man exposed himself the Arl swung his axe in a one handed overhand strike. The axe blade slammed into the guardsmen head slicing through the steel cap, flesh, bone, brain and the teeth of the upper jaw with a savage and sickening crunch. The axe's forceful blow was stopped only the fresh corpse's lower jawbone.

Blood dripped from the vicious wound and Charles found himself looking away as a particularly big drop fell through his visor to splash across face. He turned away and raised his visor open and wiped away the blood. As he did he heard the sound of metal scrapping on stone and looked up just in time to see the Arl pull down hard of his axe which was still wedged in the guard's skull. As he did he pulled the body over the edge causing it fall to the ground with a dull but grisly 'thunk.'

The big Arl hesitated a second, perhaps, listening for the cry of alarm that would mean the the enemy was alerted to their presence, but thankfully it never came. With a grunt of exertion the axe wielding nobleman pulled himself onto the battlements. Charles was the next man up on the wall, his sword held ready for action.

Turning to the Arl the Orlesian Prince threw the man a mock salute by touching the flat of his sword to the brim of his visor and said, "Good luck."

The Arl grinned, "I will look for you when this is over Orlesian. Try not to get killed."

"The same to you," Charles replied as he headed off with his Chevaliers towards the nearest tower rising from the wall.

During a siege these towers would each be mini-castles of their own, fortified positions to protect and house the defenders, forcing the attackers to take each one in costly and bloody attacks or risk the enemy emerging to take them in the rear.

Fortunately for Charles and his men they wouldn't have to worry about that now. They mercenaries where still unaware of the intrusion and had failed to post proper sentries. The sloppiness would cost a great deal of them their lives before they even knew the battle for the city had started. Then again it didn't surprise the Prince. Sellsword may have had their worth on the open battlefield but they were too ill-disciplined to make good watchmen.

Approaching the entrance to the battlement tower with his Chevaliers in tow Charles reached out and closed his fist around the door handle and gave it an experimental tug. The heavy wooden door, which should have been bolted at all times, groaned open with surprising ease and Orlesians slid in with weapons held ready.

As he entered the first thing he notice was the stench of unwashed bodies, urine, shit and old ale. It was a terrible smell and one unfortunately one he'd grown use to in during his campaigns with the Orlesian armies. At least the Orlesians and even the Ferelden's took a more sanitary approach in their camps and on the march to better prevent the spread of illness.

All around the interior were cots filled with unwashed men in mismatched armor and weapons. This was certainly not one of the better companies who had come to defend the city, but then again the overall number of quality sellswords in the city were relatively few.

Moving to the cot where one of the sellswords lay snoring Charles swiftly clamped his left hand over the man's mouth, placed the edge near the hilt of his sword at the man's throat and drew it across leaving a bright red line.

The man barely had a time to struggle or even realize what had happened before his eyes rolled back in his head and his body stilled never to move again of its own volition. Removing his hand he wiped the bloody gauntlet on the corpse's filthy tunic before sparing a glance at his men.

The Chevaliers were methodical in their actions… in the cold-blooded murder of their enemies while they slept. Within minutes it was over and most of the sellswords had died without ever waking. A few had been woken by the brief struggles of their comrades and one had nearly raised a shout of alarm before a flash of cold steel ended their lives.

Here in a guard tower on the walls of Antiva City, standing in puddles of warm blood Charles felt more comfortable and at ease then he had sense he left for Ferelden. In the end prince or no he was still a soldier and a warrior and he was thankful for the chance to become one again.

"Let us move," Charles ordered with a slight smile touching his face, "it is time for the bloody butcher's work to begin and we can't let the Feredeln's have all the fun."

"Aye we wouldn't what that… would we boys,-" Ser Renly, Charles's second response in a jovial tone.

The Chevaliers gave a cheer… yes it was time for the Antivan's to pay the butcher's bill and Charles would be dammed if his men didn't account for themselves just as well as the Queen's own. And in the deepest part of his heart in a burst of emotion that shocked him he realized that he felt ill at the thought of letting her down.

XXX

A dwarven sellsword belonging to the Sons of Stone company fell to the ground in a heap, his head rolling free of his shoulders as Tiberius finished his sweeping horizontal swipe of his massive greatsword. Shifting his weight and taking a step forward the Ferelden general rolled his wrist and swung his sword back along its previous path catching a human sellsword in the side of the chest.

Tiberius's exquisitely forged greatsword sliced through the sellsword's cheap armor and cutting deep into the flesh of the man's flank, easily breaking his ribs and perforating his lung. The man spasmed and cried out in pain from the blow and again as Tiberius gave a savage tug tearing the blade from the man's flesh.

The man's hands went to his side as he cried incoherently. Tiberius stepped over the mortally wounded man, sparing only a second to crush the man's head with the heel of his boot before moving on locking eyes on another dwarf who was brandishing a steel buckler shield and longsword.

The dwarf, marked as casteless in their society by the brands seared onto his face, rushed the general his sword drawn back in preparation for a thrusting attack. Tiberius sidestepped the thrust when it came causing the blade to scrap harmlessly along the side of the hardened steel of his plate armor.

Before the dwarf could react the Tiberius raised his greatsword high and brought a powerful two handed strike on the sellsword's dwarven helm. Whatever was said about the dwarves one thing that couldn't be argued was their steel craft was superb.

The dwarven made helm held up to the viscous overhead strike with only a slight dent. However while the steel resisted the deadly blow the man underneath could not. The force of the strike shattered the dwarf's skull and broke his neck in the process.

As his third kill fell in half as many minutes Tiberius took a step back to survey the battle. All around him the black knights of the Sovereign's Own and knights bearing the laurels of Highever fought the enemies of their Queen. Of course 'fought' was being generous.

While under better conditions the dwarves may have been good fighters but caught unprepared, off-guard and out of place they were being slaughter like sheep for the Maker's Day Feast. The phrase 'bloody butcher's work' echoed through his mind.

The knights took no prisoners as they fought their way through the city streets the stench. For any man or woman who bore arms were a foe to be killed, but those who did not fight or surrendered were to be spared. Those were her majesty's orders and Tiberius would never have it be known that he disobeyed orders.

And Tiberius had to admit that the Queen's orders made sense. If she showed that she would be merciful in victory to her surrendered foes than more would be encouraged to lay down their arms in exchange for lenient treatment.

When the last sellsword fell Tiberius ordered his men forward towards the palace with all due haste. He swore that he'd see the Denerim in flames before he allowed an prissy Orlesian to beat him to the Antivan Palace… he had his pride after all.

"To the palace," he bellowed raising his blood stained sword high over his head.

"TO THE PALACE," the men roared back.

XXX

When the main gate was thrown opened open by Jonah de Colonge's men the army of Ferelden flooded into the city like water through a broken dam. When Antiva City had built millennia it had been constructed knowing it would be a center of trade and commerce and in this moment that worked against them.

The main streets of the city were built to accommodate large amounts of commerce traffic and market stalls for innumerous vendors and merchant to pedal their wares. Ironically it was that main street that was being used to facilitate Cecilia's thrust into the heart of the city. The wide cobblestone streets were large enough to allow ten fully equipped knights to ride in tight formation alongside each other.

The column of armored horseman charged down the main fairway cutting a brutal swathe in anyone foolish enough to get in their way. Those smart enough to duck into the side streets and alleys were spared for the moment before the swarm of footmen following the wake of cavalry finished them off.

Men were crushed beneath the hooves of the knightly steeds, reduced to pulpy masses of meat and blood and screams of pain filled the night before being ruthlessly snuffed out. Men who had considered themselves fearless and unconquerable found themselves lying in a pool of their own blood and entrails crying out for their mothers.

Cecilia smiled beneath her helm as the sweet coppery scent of blood wafted up to fill her nostrils. It had been some time since she was involved in a battle of this scale. Ostwick had been some years ago and she missed the chaos and destruction of open war, but even as the thought flickered through her mind it ended.

She glanced to her where one of her knights in the vanguard slashed an upward strike with his broadsword at a fleeing sellsword. Before the female warrior fell the knight bisected her head with a viscous reverse sweep cutting through her cheap helm in a shower of bone and brain meat.

Cecilia felt her lip curl in disgust beneath her helm. This was no war she thought as the feeling of elation leaving her as almost as soon as it entered. Though it would serve her purpose to gain control of Antiva but it was not war. The fall of their capital and the death of their king would pacify the cowardly nobles of the North who still might resist the eventuality of her rule, but it would do nothing to quell the burning desire for carnage and death.

These sellsword scum were hardly deserving the name of soldier she thought and none were a challenge worthy of her. Cecilia's blade longed for a worthy foe, but knew she wouldn't find one here among this rabble. Spurring her horse into a full gallop she burst free from her protective squadron towards the center of the city where the palace rested.

In a rare bit of tactical insight the builders of the Antiva Royal palace had constructed the structure on the top of a small hill. The palace itself was surrounded by a thick stone wall and barred by a heavy iron gate. There was a plain of empty space a hundred meters in every direction all around the palace… a kill zone of sorts where archers could rain down death upon the invaders as they prepared to breach the palace walls.

As they entered the kill zone the army spread itself out to completely surround the palace to prevent any chance of escape. Quickly Cecilia dismounted and handed the reins off to a squire assigned to tend for the noble beast. As she was doing so teams of men-at-arms rushed past into the clearing holding large scaling ladders.

In mimicry of the Testudo formation of the Tevinter Legons four companies of men-at-arms of the Sovereign's Own moved towards the wall at a slow deliberate pace. Like the legionaries whose tactics they were now echoing the first rank of men held their shields out in front of them while the ranks behind them held their shields over their head to protect them from falling missiles from the palace walls.

A fifth group of men stood ready waiting for the first four to close the distance. Unlike the other companies who carried ladders this group was equipped with a man-portable battering ram. The ram's body was made of ironbark from the Brecillan Forest and it was capped by a silverite head molded into the shape of a snarling dragon.

The dragon head was covered in runes enchanted into the metal by the Ferelden Circle of Magi at the Queen's request. While she could have done it herself and imbued the battering ram with far more ancient and powerful sorcery it would attract attention she did not need.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw two men in unmistakable armor, one was midnight black with a great horned helm and the other was shining gilded plate with a great plumed helm. One was her General and the other was her husband-to-be.

"Welcome back gentlemen," Cecilia said drily as they approached her.

"I was simply waiting for the Orlesian to arrive," Tiberius said removing his helm and throwing the Prince a smug glare.

"I was… distracted," the Prince said directing a low growl at Tiberius before his face broke into a slight smile, "my men and I knew that a man of Tiberius's advanced age would take some time to reach the palace so we stopped for a drink or two to pass the time."

Cecilia let out a brief chuckle before shifted her gaze back to the palace walls and said, "Prepare yourselves."

The initial three companies had made it through the hail of arrows from the desperate Antiva Royal Constabulary manning the walls. Using grappling hooks the men-at-arms secured the ladders to the wall so that the Antivans could not dislodge the siege equipment.

Like everything else it was rough, brutal and bloody work. The men-at-arms scalded the walls killing and shedding blood, fighting tooth and nail for every inch of ground as they ground down Antivan Royal Constabulary. She watched carefully as one of her men was thrown from the walls his lifeless body crashing against the cobblestone ground.

A second crash, the unmistakable sound of metal on metal, drew her gaze as she watched the battering ram slam into the heavy iron gate. When the dragon head struck the iron of the gate it released a stream of fire burning a small opening. The ram struck again and the dragon once more belched fire widening the breach it first created.

Cecilia let her hand drop to her side and drew her gleaming blade as the ram struck again bashing the gates wide open. Cecilia took a deep breath her hand twisting around the handle of her sword. Inside her soul the two halves of her warred against each other as her bloodlust fought against her desire for cold-blooded control.

It had been a long time since Cecilia had allowed herself to surrender to the bloodlust that was a part of the duality of her nature. The lust was building up inside like a burning ember blossoming into a roaring fire. Turning to Tiberius and Charles she ordered her voice hoarse, "Follow me."

XXX

"Hold up," Hector hissed to the young dirt covered princess as he slumped up against a large conifer tree. Breathy heavily, feeling nauseas and covered in sweat Hector slid down to rest up against the base of the tree.

Gingerly he removed the wrapping covering his wounded leg where the Ferelden hound had savaged him. The wound still oozed puss and Hector nearly choked on the putrid smell rising up from his open wound.

"That does not look good," the Princess said softly as she looked at him with wide and fearful eyes.

Hector looked down at the painful injury. The young princess was right about that. He had seen wounds fester like this before and if left untreated would result in death. The septic nature of the wound meant that his body was slowly being poisoned… he would have to get to a healer and soon or he'd definitely loose the leg and probably his life.

A hard grating laugh slipped past his lips as he realized the absurdity of his situation. He'd escaped from the Ferelden Royal Palace with Queen Cecilia's knights hot on his back. He had escaped from the doomed fortress of Gilbran surviving an encounter with the Queen and her dwarven henchman, escaped Antiva City before the arrival of her armies and survived the slaughter of the princess's entourage. Now it looked like he was going to die from a dog bite of all things.

Tearing another strip of clothing from his tunic and rewrapped his leg and weakly stood. "We need to continue moving. We are not far from the border," Hector said warily offering the princess a weak smile, "as soon as we clear the forest we'll find a small river," he paused glancing through the woods, "There should be a ring of guard towers designed to keep watch along border. If we can reach them…" he trailed off.

"Do you think the Viscount will protect us," the princess asked no doubt trying to sound confident, but failing miserably. Not that he was surprised. Anna was after all still a little girl use brother and caregivers had just been murdered before her very eyes.

"Your father seemed to think so," Hector said carefully. In truth he had no idea whether or not the Viscount of Kirkwall would protect them. The caravan commander had believed that their plea for sanctuary would be honored, but Hector honestly didn't know.

From what he had heard the Viscount of Kirkwall was fair and honorable. He was a man of conviction and his word was known was his bond. If the Viscount agreed or already had agreed to protect the princess than she would be safe… at least for now.

As they began moving again the ill-welcomed words of the Merchant Prince Lord Vincent wormed it way into his head. The Merchant Prince had insinuated that Lord Alexander Threnhold was a cats-paw of Queen Cecilia and a traitor to Kirkwall or at the very least a pawn in the Dragon Queen's labyrinthine schemes.

It was that the Antivan Crow feared the most. Threnhold was supposed to be the Viscounts confidant, his friend and greatest ally. How was he… an assassin supposed to convince the mighty Champion and Viscount that his friend was working against him?

The sound was faint at first so faint that Hector wasn't sure he heard it at all, but the young Princess Anna apparently had better ears than he for eyes wide and fearful she trembled, "Hounds! I can hear them Hector… I can hear them!"

Hector paused and titled his head leg a dog trying to hear a far of sound. He didn't hear the barks but what he did hear was the shrill, piercing and bellowing call of a war horn. Putting aside the pain in his leg for the moment and hissed, "Run… towards the river… run!"

XXX

Almost a hundred meters back Raymond and his men had been forced to abandon their horses to pass through the thick brush. Driven by equal parts rage and fear Ser Raymond pressed forward cursing Antiva and their Crows with each step.

Despite his hatred he had to admit the crow was crafty. Since losing him at the caravan ambush the assassin had led them on a merry chase, but the mabari handlers assured him that their hounds had reacquired the scent.

Their destination was not unknown to Raymond nor the men of his company. There was only one place that the princess and the assassin could possibly go… Kirkwall. Raymond spared a glance over his shoulder to where his native guide followed, Kirkwall… the borders of which they were rapidly approaching.

It was one place he was forbidden to follow. The Queen's orders were clear on that. To that extent Raymond had split his force in thrice. Like on the hunts he had participated his force would flush their quarry from the brush into the waiting sword points of the other two groups which sent ahead to the river banks.

"Robert the horn," Raymond bellowed and in responds the knight raised his war horn and blew a roaring note.

The bellow of the war horn served a simple purpose. The men he had stationed upon the river banks would be able to position themselves accordingly to capture the quarry once flushed from the woods. Once they had the girl he could avenge himself on the Crow and return to the Queen with her prize and his head held high.

As they drew closer to the edge of the woods another horn bow shattered the silence… one log two short. The reality of the call caused his stride to falter and his men to halt in their place. He threw a glance at Ser Robert to make he had not lost his mind, but found the bloody knight starring right back at him. One long and two short blasts on the horn meant that they were under attack.

"Forward," Raymond shouted drawing his sword. Even as he did he wondered what in the name of the Maker's hairy ass was going on. The caravan had been wiped out to the man save the assassin and the princess herself. He checked against the manifest the traitor Jonah de Cologne had supplied to them.

If the bastard Orlesian had lied to them and King Castlen had dispatched additional men along a different road… if they had fallen upon his men in ambush. He broke from the wood line to see several horses laid slain some with their riders crushed beneath heard ring and clash of steel upon steel filled the air confirming his fears.

The sight before him was enough to cause the seasoned knight to give pause. Nearly half of the right wing were dead, their life's blood spilling upon the pebbled beach. The rest had allowed themselves to be separated from their brothers and sisters and were now paying for their folly with their lives.

He glanced to his left and saw not fifty meters down the bank were the princess and the assassin. He spared glance back to his men and saw they would not survive without aide. In the space of three heart beats he weighed his options, "Protect your brothers! Robert," he turned, "the horn!"

The roar of his words gave way to the two long blows to signal a charge as his men rushed forward swords and spears held high. The enemy barely had time to realize that Raymond and his wing had joined the fight before they were fallen upon.

As his armored foe turned Raymond reached back and swung his sword across his chest in a viscous sweep. The thick of the blade halfway down the length caught the man in the side of the neck tearing through flesh and stopping only when striking the spine. With a savage kick to the new corpse's ribs he tore the blade free sending a spray of arterial blood high into the air.

He stepped back away from the fight watching as the hounds tore into the enemy. Thrusting his blade high he bellowed, "Fereldens rally to me! Reform! Reform!"

The knights and men-at arms of the right wing tossed cautious glances over their over before seeing this was no trick and using the cover of the hounds fell back towards Raymond's rapidly forming battle line. From his position Raymond watched as the viscous warhounds tore into the panicking enemy troops.

While well armored these foes lacked the élan of true knights and real warriors and when the battle turned against them they lack the resolve to stand. In contrast the Sovergien's Own was well-trained, disciplined and battle tested and within moments fell into battle lines.

The first two ranks were spearmen with heavy shield and in the third rank came the knights on foot. Sensing weakness in their foe they moved forward at Raymond's even as their foes still fought desperately against the mabari.

If the outcome of the battle was still in doubt fate was sealed but moments later when two long horn blast ripped even over the din of battle signaling the arrival of the last third of his men. Raymond glanced to his left to see the beautiful sight of a dozen knights on horseback and two dozen more men-at-arms charging in with a savage war cry.

The battle was over within a moment's time.

XXX

Blood flowed freely through the halls of the Antivan Royal Palace once the wall was breached. Its defenders were butchered as they fought a desperate but futile battle. With savage swing Cecilia parted the head of an idiotic Royal Constabulary who stood in her way.

A last man… the only surviving Antivan left alive in the antechamber was on his knees clenching the bloody stump of his right hand. Prayers slipped from between his lips interspersed between pitiful pleas for his life.

Cecilia turned on the young man and slid the tip of her sword underneath his throat and tilted his neck up so she could look down on the tearful man, "Pitiful," she whispered taking a second to savor his terror before slipping the tip through his throat and removing it a swift motion.

The Royal Constabulary fell to the floor his eyes wide, his blood pooling onto the floor to join the small ocean already spilt on the floor. Stepping over the body Cecilia moved towards the jewel encrusted, gold and silver plated double doors. She paused to run a gauntleted hand over the royal coat of arms of Antiva only to leave a bloodstained trail wherever her hand passed

Brining her other hand up to rest on the double doors she pushed and slowly the bejeweled door swung open allowing Cecilia to stride through. As she did she let her helmeted gaze sweep the room relishing in the fearful stares of the rooms inhabitants.

As befitting the palace of the king of one of the richest nations of the world the throne was opulently decorated. Great sable banners hung from the ceiling which was supported by gold fringed Ionic order columns. At the back of the luscious chamber rose a great marble dais on which sat a great oak throne covered in velvet cushions.

Standing at the foot of the dais was King Castlen of Antiva surrounded by his courtiers and the great Merchant Princes of the country. Curios were the absence of any guards or soldiers, but then she considered the tally of bodies she and her men had scored on their way in he must be hurting for men.

The King was clad in a magnificent set of golden armor with an Armet style helm with a lavender plume falling from its head and a dark blue cape hanging from his shoulders. Cecilia felt her lip curl at the sight. This was not the armor of a warrior; it was a trophy for a monarch to strut about in to awe the impressionable masses.

"Your majesty," Cecilia said in the most cordial tone she could summon. Her eyes glanced across the room taking in the fear her presence and the presence of her men caused as they filed in behind her.

"Murderess," the King of Antiva hissed as he drew his sword, a gaudy jeweled weapon that she doubted had ever seen the carnage of the battlefield nor tasted the blood of an enemy.

Cecilia's laugh echoed across the room causing the merchants and courtiers to flinch in terror. She titled her head to were Tiberius stood at her side a smile touching her hidden lips, "He calls me murderess General… what do you say to that?"

Tiberius lowered the tip of his greatsword until it dug a small grove into the marble floor so the general could rest his hands upon the pommel, "Tis a strange thing for a man to allow assassins free run of his lands to call another murderer."

Ignoring the riposte the King of Antiva snarled, "You took my son from me," thrusting an armored figure at her.

"He ignored the rules of parley and brought it upon himself," she shrugged the movement exaggerated by her armor and again she smirked, "and I have done more than that. Your infant and daughter will soon find themselves in my grip. The girl I have plans for, but the boy I have no need of… perhaps I shall dash his head against the ground… or feed him to my hounds."

"You… you lie," his voice faltered.

"I rarely lie Castlen," Cecilia countered dryly, "Now will you surrender or shall it come to a contest of arms?"

The King roared an unintelligible battle cry and charged at her with his sword held out like a spear intent on skewering her. The knights began to move but she waved them off and they retreated to the edges of the room. Holding her blade at her side she waited as the King charged, she held still until he closed within striking distance.

With a flourish Cecilia swiped her sword upward and across her body as she sidestepped. Her blade collided with the King's defeating the tip harmlessly away from her. The Antvian's momentum carried him forward and with a near comical stumble he stripped and fell to the floor.

Cecilia sighed as she turned back to face him. The king eventually rose to his feet, but this time adopted a sloppy en'guard position and seemed to be content to wait shakily for her to strike. With another sigh the Queen took three steps forward to close the distance and swung her sword in a series of lazy one-handed attacks.

Even these strikes the king struggle with. With a final sigh and realizing there was no honor or thrill to be had in this fight she decided it was to be brought to an abrupt and violent end. Bringing her free hand to the pommel of her blade she struck again and when the blade collided she twisted the hilt up and out to lock the blades together. With a forceful tug and a step to the rear she tore the jeweled weapon from the king's hand.

Stepping back in she brought the pommel of her sword down slamming it into the golden helm in a continuous downward motion that ended up with the pommel near her left hip. While he was still dazed she took a step forward with her left foot and in the same motion slammed her left elbow into the right side of his head.

The force of the blow caused the king to stumble to his right before a few moments later collapsing to the ground. Moving so she stood over him she used the toe of her right boot to roll him over. Glancing down at him with disgust on her face she wondered how such a weak man as this had ever come to rule a kingdom.

With bothering to look down she drove the tip of her sword down towards his chest. With her unnatural strength behind the blow the tip punched through the armored plate protecting the King's chest and buried itself in his heart. Not finished Cecilia twisted the blade left and then right before releasing the handle leaving the sword vertical inside the dying king.

Reaching up Cecilia removed her great helm and hung it on the pommel of her sword. Fixing the rest of the former king's entourage with a piercing glare she said slowly with a menace laden tone, "This is the price of noncompliance… if anyone else has a desire to follow this fool to the afterlife then let him speak."

Of course none did.

"You have proven yourselves wiser than I first assumed," Tiberius growled causing several of the Merchant Princes to cringe.

"Tiberius see our friends here to the guest wing," she commanded returning to stand over the fallen king, "you will be allowed to leave on the morrow to collect the ransom owed to me," her voiced hardened, "I would advise against running."

"Yo… your majesty a word please," an elderly and frail looking man in rich maroon robes whose long fingers were stained with ink said his voice trembling with fear once they rest of the courtiers had departed, "I am Oren the Chief Steward to King. I managed most of the day-to-day affairs of the kingdom …" he trailed off looking at the body with a frightened expression, "or I did…"

Cecilia glanced meaningfully at the corpse of the king, "And does he still command your loyalty?"

The steward paled before gulping, "I serve the throne…" the elderly man paled again as he tried not to see the skewered king, "whom sits on the throne is of lesser importance."

"Good," Cecilia said giving the steward and icy glare, "I shall offer you one chance to prove your worth to me."

"Anything majesty… you have but to name it," he intoned his eyes lighting up with hope.

"There is an object within the treasure vault that I require."

Cecilia could literally see the hope fade from the steward's eyes, "Your majesty the king sold a great many valuables to buy his army… I fear what you seek may no longer be there."

The Queen knew that the piece of her brother was still here in the treasure vaults in the depths of the Antivan Royal Palace. She couldn't mistake the feeling of dread the settled in the pit of her stomach in the presence of even a piece of Dumat, her eldest brother and the Lord of Everlasting Silence… the King of Death and Master of the Land Beyond.

Even after all these centuries the bond between siblings was still strong and even though only a sliver of his radiance the presence of death still hung heavy. Dumat was dead the terrible weapon mankind's Maker had forged and let loose on the world had seen to that. In fact four of her brothers were dead and she swore on their memories she would see them avenged.

XXX

"You did what," Lord Alexander Threnhold bellowed at the guard Lieutenant with disbelief coloring every syllable of his words every pretense of noble bearing dropped.

"Do not blame the man for following his Viscount's orders," Hawke said with a weary sigh. He had known that his old friend would be upset with his actions but the scope of his rage had taken the Champion by disguise. Turning his gaze to the guard officer he ordered, "Dismissed and well done."

"Thank you milord," the guard officer said with a bow and made a hasty retreat.

"Go ahead and get it off your chest," Hawke turned back with another weary sigh and waiting for the inevitable rage.

"Damn you Hawke, damn you," Threnhold whispered all the fight falling out of the old man, "you realize what you have done do you not? You have started a war. Sheltering the girl would have given Queen Cecilia cause to begin one, but ambushing her men on Antivan soil… that is madness."

Licking his lips Hawke straightened himself up, "When the humans first came to this land from across the sea their lord burnt their great ships… do you know why," not giving Threnhold the time to answer he continued, "To prevent any thought of retreat… victory or death."

Threnhold ground his teeth, "So that is what you have done by ordering the ambush of Fereldens… preventing any other option but war."

"Yes," Hawke admitted his thoughts heavy with the blood on his hands, but knowing in his heart of hearts he had done the right thing. Still twenty seven men were dead and a score more were wounded as a result of his actions.

"Maker help us," the lord whispered, "the girl she is here in the city?"

"Her and her… bodyguard is in the Keep's apartments. The man is wounded… gravelly wounded and has fallen into a deep sleep. The healer is not sure if he will ever awake," Hawke said focusing on his family crest resting on the wall of the chamber.

"Only one guard," Threnhold frowned, "I thought King Castlen would have sent more."

"He did," Hawke admitted, "but they were murdered by Cecilia's men on the road. The sole remaining man with her is a Crow of all things," he finished with a light laugh at this twist of fate.

Threnhold's eyes narrowed for a brief second and Hawke thought he saw surprise and shock in the man's eyes but it faded quickly, "An… Antivian Crow," he said slowly.

Hawke hesitated wondering at Threnhold's strange reaction, but decided to dismiss it as a trick of the light and answered, "Yes, yes he is or at least that is what he told the princess."

Threnhold looking older than he had in years asked carefully "When do you depart the city for the wounded coast approach?"

"As soon as I receive word than the Queen is on the march," Hawke stopped and considered it for several seconds, "I believe we shall have a few weeks at the least before Antvia City falls. Even the Royal Constabulary and the sellswords the king hired should be able to hold the city for some time."

"I suppose," Threnhold admitted, "but I would wager on the city falling sooner rather than later."

I agree," Hawke said grimly a dark memory rising to the surface of his mind. The last city Cecilia had stormed had been Ostwick and that had seen the death of his wife and son. Queen Cecilia had developed precedence for doing the unexpected and the seemingly impossible. "And we must prepare for the fight of our lives."

XXX

Prince Charles of Orlais made his way through the noting that most of the blood stains and bodies were being cleaned and removed by the small army of servants left over from the from the battle. Some of the servants quickly spared a glance at him but just as quickly went back to work less they earn the ire of their overseers.

The Prince turned to one of the black cloaked men-at-arms and asked, "Where will I find the Queen?"

The man-at-arms gave the prince a look over before glancing over his shoulder, "She has taken the king's former residence as her own… I believe she as retired from the night… my prince," the man added almost as an afterthought.

"Thank you," Charles said with a polite but curt nod.

Making his way through the halls of the palace Charles had to admit this place was impressive… again not as much as the Imperial Palace in Val Royeaux, but still impressive nonetheless. Stain glass featuring portions of the prophet's life covered the windows while the interior layers of the wall were polished white marble.

Approaching the Royal apartments of the palace Charles encountered another handful of men-at-arms of the Sovereign's Order standing the guarding the entrance to the rooms their mistress had claimed as her own.

As soon as he was seen the men-at-arms dropped their hands to their swords. It took the men a few seconds longer to recognize him as he was outside his gleaming gilded armor. The Prince of Orlais had elected to wear a mail hauberk under a rich azure surcoat bearing the Fleur-de-lis symbol of the Royal House of Orlais instead of his full battle armor.

"Prince Charles," the man whom Charles presumed to be the leader said gruffly his hand still resting on the pommel of his longsword. A quick glance around the room the showed they all still had their hands on their weapons and briefly his mind flashed back to a very similar situation back in Denerim, but now like then they parted allowing him to pass.

Coming to door he laid his hand against the ivory panels and pushed it in. Slowly Charles passed through the study filled with hundreds of tomes and parchment… the late king's private library no doubt and on an armor stand hung the Queen's obsidian colored armor. Strangely the midnight armor seemed just as ominous empty as it did when Cecilia donned it.

Frowning he stepped towards the suit and seemingly for the first time notice the breastplate was covered in small runic characters. A few bore resemblance to the Tevinter tongue, but he couldn't decipher them if they were. Reaching out Charles placed the palm of his right hand against the breastplate and to his surprise it was warm to the touch. His eyes found themselves drawn to the intricate patterns of the Tevinter like runes.

His frowned deepened as a shape began to appear as he connected the runic symbols in his mind. Squinting he drew closer to the armor as without warning a leering dragon like skull flashed before his eyes. Charles gasped and stumbled back momentarily taken off guard by the terrible visage.

"My Prince," a soft, but familiar voice with a undercurrent of steel running through it, sounded, "a pleasure to see you," the Queen said offering him a smile that sent shots of desire running down his spine.

"Your majesty," Charles responded with a curt nod before throwing a glance back at the Queen's armor which seemed once more to be a mere set of masterfully crafted plate. Turning back to the Queen he continued trying to recover his verbal balance then frowned trying to remember what had set him on edge.

"I was looking for you," he finished lamely blinking through the fog the settled over his mind.

Another laugh slipped through Cecilia's lips, "Well apparently you have found me."

Charles let his eyes drift over the woman before him. The woman was clothed in a silken night gown that hung to every curve if her form in a manner Charles could only describe as sinful. Stepping forward Charles closed the gap between them and wrapped his arms around her waist bringing her body to his.

Ever since their night together beneath the shadow of mount Alduin the Prince of Orlais found his thoughts constantly turning towards his young and beautiful intended. She was in his head and in his soul. Unless he was on the field of battle he founds his thoughts constantly consumed by this woman.

When he starred into the bottomless ice blue eyes of hers everything else seemed to melt away. He didn't notice the mocking smile on her lips, the fist sized diamond shaped jewel filled with swirling dark red almost purple blood hanging from her neck.

All the Prince could think of was how beautiful she was as he was overcome with a desire that he couldn't refuse. In a swift motion he slid his right hand to the back on her neck and pushed her head forward to bring her lips to his. Consumed with a deep need he didn't even begin to understand he ravished her lips as he pushed her back up against the stone wall.

With more strength than he would have credited her with she pushed in back. He glanced down and saw a lustful gleam in the Queen's eyes as she dragged him back towards her newly claimed bedroom. With a push Charles knocked Cecilia back onto the bed before he finished divesting himself of his breeches. As he did he glanced at the luscious figure laid out before her. Her wild golden hair hung down to her shoulders framing her face and ruby lips. Trailing lower the entrancing ruby jewel hung between her firm and perfect breasts though paling next to the sculpted mounds themselves.

Reaching out he ran a hand over the smooth skin over her stomach feeling the lean muscle beneath before trailing down to where a small patch of golden curls rested between her legs. Their first coupling had been a violent, frenzied event. The last time he hadn't taken the time to truly enjoy the sight of the beauty before him.

He had had many women in his life, but none compared to this one. Cecilia was lean from years of training but still possessed curves in all the right places and yet she was stronger than her form seemed to suggest. As he ran his hand over the pale flesh he also took in that for one who lead such a violent life as she her skin was unblemished from scars and other wounds.

This time he took the opportunity to explore every inch of the young Queen before joining his body with hers and claiming whatever small piece of her soul she was willing to give.

XXX

For what seemed like the umpteenth time Morrigan glanced over to her dwarven gaoler since they had entered the underground passages which would lead to the ancient Grey Warden fortress called the Soldier's Peak. Or that least the fortress had once flown the silver griffon of the Grey Wardens but now flew the scarlet dragon of Queen Cecilia of Ferelden.

Cecilia had said that the old warden mage had been performing some kind of experiment on the darkspawn, but little beyond that. Whether the Queen was seeking someway to enslave the darkspawn for her schemes or eradicate them the witch did not know. What Morrigan did know was that between her own lust for knowledge and her fear of Cecilia's power she had no choice.

Morrigan dropped her hand to her stomach remembering the ancient runes that she had cut into her stomach as an offhand demonstration of her arcane knowledge and power. The mark had robbed her of her access to the fade and therefore her magic. The runes were gone but it sometimes felt like they were still there, carved into her flesh. Morrigan had never forgotten the terror of that moment and never wanted it repeated.

The witch glanced to her right were the dwarf Dakrak rode next to her and suddenly wished she hadn't. As one who had inflicted it often enough she knew when someone was afraid. It was subtle enough for most not to see it. His fists were clinched tight on the reigns of his horse, the hard set to his jaw and a slight twitch to his eye all gave his fear away.

A subtle glance to eye the rest of the small warband of knights and men-at-arms confirmed that they were afraid as well. She wasn't vain enough to believe they were afraid of her. The fact that their fear seemed to increase as they neared the end of the tunnels suggested it was the Soldier's Peak they were afraid of… or rather what was in it.

The thought did not bring Morrigan any comfort. When they exited the tunnel the witch saw why. The Soldier's Peak rose up from the side of the mountain its thick and sturdy grey-white walls projecting a sense of invulnerability and honor from its days as a bastion of the Grey Wardens. For all appearances it was a monument to the glory of an ancient order long since passed its high water mark.

The witch however knew better. The mystical energies of the Fade bled from this place like an open sore. How this place was not overrun with demons and demonic growths was beyond her. Any other place would be a veritable breeding ground for the unholy spawn of the realm beyond.

As they approached the massive gate house the thick wooden gates swung open pushed by two large armored figures. When the gates had opened as far as they could the two figures stood silently and though Morrigan couldn't see their eyes beneath their helms she had the feeling that they were glaring into her very soul.

"We go no further," Dakrak said his eyes looked on the armored men, "you must go on alone. We cannot go with you… nor would I want to… witch."

Morrigan glared at him, her heart pounding within her chest, before glancing back at the imposing gate keepers. The witch found herself wishing that she had never met Elissa's demon spawned child or left the familiar comforts of her Wilds. But now it was too late.

With a movement of her boot she spurred the horse in its flank. She expected the horse to move forward, but it refused swaying its head from side to side braying indigently. She spurred the beast again but it just reared back throwing her from the saddle before bolting back down into the caverns. Glaring up at the dwarf she caught a pitying expression before he had the rest of the warband turn their mounts around and made to leave.

Once they vanished back into the caverns Morrigan considered following them, but somehow knew that the gatekeepers would give chase. Standing up she gather her cloak about her and headed towards the gate cursing Cecilia, Elissa, Alistair, the dwarf, the Old Gods, and the Maker.

As she passed through the gate she observed its keepers. Like the knights of Cecilia's order they wore heavy plate armor, but unlike the Sovereign's Own they plate was intricately detailed with insidiously glowing almost… demonic script. Their helms were horned except unlike the Queen's general which curved up these curved downward like the tusks of some great boar.

But the worst was the eyes. Through the slits of their armor she could see two glowing orbs burning with hatred, malevolence and madness. The 'men', though she now hesitated to call them men, as they reeked with the stench of the Fade didn't speak but instead motioned with an inclination of their heads.

She moved through the gatehouse and the creatures fell in behind her their every step brimming with the unspoken threat of violence and death. As she approached the inner courtyard she noticed four more of the armored creatures standing in a loose semi-circle behind another figure wearing a heavy robe and a cowl it's obscured its face.

"I thought Avenerus was dead," Morrigan said she came to a halt in front of the unknown mage. She knew it was a mage as she could feel its power leaking from its flesh into the air around them.

"I," it rasped in a deep gravel voice which sent a burst of fear down Morrigan's spine, "am not Avernus. My name… is Corypheus."

XXX

_Cecilia sat in a throne like marble chair with pair of plush cushions for a seat and back rest while clothed in a billowing garment that could barely called clothes. Leaning forward the Queen moved one of the King's pieces forward capturing one of her foe's knights in an orgy of miniature bloodshed and violence._

_From across the vast table the dragon with whom she was playing with gave a sigh of displeasure as with a mental command he moved the mage piece forward. It titled its head in a gesture indicating an inquiry, "Victory."_

_A look of fury crossed over Cecilia perfect features before she masked it all except the unholy gleam in her eyes. The vast table held a miniature version of the battle of Gadden Fields during the earliest days of the Imperium. The beautiful replicated battlefield fluctuated for a second before a burning hellfire ravaged the table reducing the countryside to cinders in a raging inferno._

"_You are distracted," the dragon spoke each word slowly though it still sounded like the roar of the most ferocious storm. _

_Cecilia fixed her gaze on the psychic representation of the portion of her divine power that could not be housed within the physical flesh she now wore. Since her rebirth in the flesh of a mortal the portion of her power that remained in the Fade convalesced into a kind of reflection of her inner most thoughts. It was a reminder of her true majesty and the desires of the Old God of War to battle the desires of her mortal flesh._

"_Be silent," she snapped as her eyes returned to their normal azure color._

"_Do you feel for him…," the dragon queried._

_Cecilia shifted her gaze to glance over the dragon's powerful shoulder and folded wing to where the Black City hung ominously in the background like a diseased pustule at the heart of the Fade. She considered the question and mulled over the myriad of emotions milling about in her soul._

_Finally she admitted, "I do… care for him… but not enough to stop me from doing what must be done," she glanced back down at the burning scenery it light reflecting hellishly in her eyes, "When he has given me what I require I will dispose of him."_

"_Two progeny," the dragon rumbled._

_Cecilia chuckled darkly, "I only need one from him… an heir to the throne of Orlais. The second need not be of Orlesian blood… of Charles's blood."_

"_You have a candidate," the great lizard said sounding a bit surprised._

"_No," she admitted, "but we have no rush. Charles and I are no due to be married for nearly six more months and then longer still before a child is expected out of our union… plenty of time," she turned her fiery gaze back, to the spectral dragon, "never doubt my devotion to vengeance." _

_XXX_

"They are what the Tevinter called juggernauts," the rasping voice of the mage Corypheus explained as he lead Morigan through the labyrinthine hallways of the Soldier's Peak. "Dammed souls forever imprisoned within a suit of armor knowing nothing but pain and a lust for blood… a punishment for those that earn Argon's everlasting displeasure."

Morrigan felt a shiver run down her spine as she took a second glance at the creatures. She had once fought a Tevinter Juggernaut during her adventures with Cecilia during the Fifth Blight when they had been hunting down the werewolves of the Brecilian Forest.

The monstrous armored figure had fought with inhuman strength and madness. It's magical armored had rendered strikes that could have been fatal, inconsequential. Every blow had only served to inflame the damned creature's rage and bloodlust. It had taken their entire party to finally destroy the dammed creature and even then it had nearly killed Alistair and Sten before finally being torn apart by the combined magical skills of herself and the Circle Mage Wynne, the blades of Zevran, Leliana, Elissa and the brute strength of the golem Shale.

And that had been but one juggernaut against the entire party. Here Morrigan was alone without a friend in the world. She was surrounded by creatures of dark magic and a mage who sent shivers down her spine. Morrigan knew what the price of defiance would be and it wasn't a price she was willing to pay.

If the witch hoped the interior of the fortress would promote any feelings of comfort or security she was dead wrong. The stink of fell magic filled the stone halls along with what Morrigan thought was the odor of rotting meat. The combination set her stomach at ill-ease.

Every fiber of the witch's being told her to run and leave this place and its madness behind. However that same curiosity and lust for knowledge that had prevented her rejecting Cecilia's offer in the Wilds when she had still had the chance now reared its head once more.

Slowly like a prisoner facing their last lonely walk to the hangman's noose she followed the ancient mage up the winding staircase. With every step she took up the stone stairs the little warmth that was left in the air seemed to vanish leaving behind an eerie, otherworldly chill.

"For what purpose have I been brought here," Morrigan queried wishing to known exactly why she had been sent from the Queen's camp to this gods forsaken place . Cecilia's initial comments had suggested that it was something to do with the vile darkspawn, but little beyond that.

The mage creature ignored her question as they finally ceased their climb at one of the upper levels of the ancient castle. As they passed one open chamber Corypheus raised a gnarled, shriveled hand pointing towards the chamber's interior. Morrigan glance to the gloomy chamber frowning as she did.

At first she thought it was a meat locker … a place where dried pieces of pork, beef and fish were salted, dried and hung until it was time for them to be eaten. Most dwellings whether farmsteads, village huts, castles or palaces had something like it of various sizes. However this was not that.

Randomly from crude iron hooks hung black putrid pieces of meat, arms, legs, torsos, heads and other pieces of what was once darkspawn of every classification known to her. Eyes wide in horrid fascination she slowly entered the unholy abode and realized something even more disturbing.

Each piece of meat was hung in such a way to suggest wasn't random at all but a carefully arranged pattern. That pattern was set so that as the black oozing darkspawn blood dripped from the pieces it was caught in channels cut into the stone floor forming a crude eight-pointed star.

What the exact purpose of the arrangement or the star was Morrigan had no idea, but what she did know this was a type of blood magic more powerful and obscene than anything she'd ever scene. The star itself had been a symbol of the Old Gods ever since the earliest days of the Imperium and had been banned on pain of death from the lands of the Chantry.

"What is the meaning of this Corypheus," Morrigan hissed.

Corypheus ignored her question and responded with one of his own, "What do you know of the darkspawn?"

Gritting her teeth the witch hesitated internally debating whether to press her own question or answer the mage creature's own. With a poignant glance at the armored figure behind the mage she sighed, "I know enough. According to the Chantry the darkspawn were a punishment inflicted on the world when a group of magisters attempted to force their way into the Maker's Golden City."

For the first time Corypheus raised his head, showed his ruined face and… to Morrigan's disgust smiled revealing rotted broken teeth. Biting back down bile and horror and the site Morrigan almost missed it when he spoke in a rough guttural tone.

"How like the False One to hide lies within truth and truth within lies," it crackled manically its tone reeking of madness, "ohh the darkspawn are far more than a simple plague upon the mortal realm."

"Explain," she barked.

The thing sighed almost theatrically, "Tell me witch how do you kill a god?"

Thrown by the sudden shifts in conversation Morrigan frowned, "I do not understand."

"The gods," he repeated, "The Elven Pantheon, the Forgotten Ones, the Olds Gods, the False One have warred since time immaterial for control of this plane and yet only the False One has ever spilt blood. Only he has ever killed one of his fellows."

That didn't make sense. Everything Morrigan had ever learned about the Fade and it's inhabits precluded that possibility. Spirits and Daemons like the gods themselves were immaterial and while they could possess forms of flesh for a time they were never truly removed from the eddies of the Fade. If the mortal flesh was destroyed their essences were returned to the Fade to rebuild and reform, but as far as she knew they could not be destroyed. They were energy, emotion, thought and knowledge and that was truly immortal.

Suddenly realization came to her, "You mean the darkspawn? How?"

"Aye… the darkspawn," the man said his voice even lower and harsher than ever before, "their corruption is more than a simple pollution of the flesh and mind… it is a vile weapon set forth to corrupt and destroy the very souls of those it infects not only in this realm but in the land beyond as well."

"So when a Grey Warden slays an Archdemon," she said in cold awe as she finally connected all the pieces of the puzzle, "the Old God it once was is actually… dead. And the darkspawn," she said slowly glancing up to the corpses, "Cecilia plans to use them to kill…. to kill the Maker?"

Morrigan only half listened to the rest of what Corypheus about having to draw the magical essence of the blight from the blood of the darkspawn and the insinuation other pieces and magical artifacts like the Tear of Dumat that needed to be collected. Instead Morrigan's thought were on the enormity, the sheer arrogance of Cecilia's undertaken and now she understood the scope of Cecilia's hatred and desire to avenge her fallen brother.

Suddenly the witch the daughter of Flemeth, the fearsome and terrifying Witch of the Wilds felt very, very small. Gods had been slain in this ancient feud of the immortals; gods which had seen the birth of all and had shaped the very nature of the world itself were dead.

What would such a conflict even look like if the God of War freed her two remaining brothers, for that surely must fit somewhere into her plans, went to war. When such ancient and empyral creatures went to war all the world would certainly shake in fear and terror.

Just like Morrigan was doing now.

XXX

The Temple of Our Holy Lady the Prophetess Andraste or more informally known as simply the chantry was a massive white marble structure towering over everything in the city save the Viscount's Keep itself. It glistening white walls glimmered in the morning dawn as if they were reflecting the light of the Maker himself.

Arching flying buttresses, magnificent stain glass windows and glittering gilded statues of the prophetess created a sense of awe and inferiority in most as they came to worship, which was what exactly what the architects of the chantry had intended. It had been championed by the builder as a house to rival the Grand Cathedral in Val Royeaux as the Maker's greatest house on earth.

Even Garret Hawke the Viscount and Champion of Kirkwall had to fight down the awe he felt whenever he came to the imposing structure. While not exactly the overtly pious type Hawke like almost every member of Andrastian nations believed in the Maker to some degree. Even if he didn't believe he'd have to be a fool to disregard the political power the Chantry wielded and the military might of its Templars.

When Hawke and his small company reached the top step of the rise he was greeted by three templars in their spotless grey armor and red tunics. Two were knight brothers with their great winged helms and the third was Knight-Commander Cullen.

"Greetings Viscount Hawke, Lord Threnhold," the Knight-Commander said respectfully, "the Grand Cleric his waiting for you in the foyer."

"Thank you Cullen," Hawke said before turning back to his guard-captain, "Aveline you and your men will stay here."

The guard captain looked like she wanted to argue but decided it wasn't worth the argument. Over ten years ago the bastard apostate Anders destroyed the previous chantry in a misguided attempt for free his fellow mages from whay he saw as the oppression of the Chantry and their Templars. Whatever his goal had been it had ended in his death and the annulment of the Kirkwall Circle.

The new chantry had just been complete two years ago and was constantly ringed by a full complement of Templars who took their job very seriously. Hawke allowed the chantry brother to lead him, Threnhold and the disguised Princess Anna through the phalanx of Templars into the great, lavish foyer of the temple.

"Grand Cleric Petrice a pleasure," Hawke said gruffly as he sighted the religious leader of Kirkwall. The Grand Cleric of Kirkwall turned and gave a brittle smile… one that Hawke took note of and did not like one bit.

"Viscount," she said in a tone that was pleasant but obviously false and again Hawke felt his stomach clench. It was the same tone the Viscount noted drily that Threnhold had his other advisors took when they had news that they knew he didn't want to hear.

"Grand Cleric you know Lord Threnhold," he gestured before glancing down at the young girl, "and this is the young Princess Anna… the rightful heir to the Throne of Antiva."

If anything Petrice's smile grew even more brittle, "An honor your highness," she said and then bowed her head, "My condolences for your family."

"Thank you, your Grace," she said with more strength than Hawke would have expected and that pleased him that the girl could be so strong. As he saw it it boded well for her future rule.

Fixing the Grand Cleric with a steely gaze he spoke in his most formal tone, "Your Grace I would request that Princess Anna of Antiva be pleased under the protection of the Chantry and the most noble Order of the Knights of the Temple until such a time that she can be returned to her proper place on her father's throne."

Petrice hesitated looking like some poor doe cornered by a hunter. Her blue eyes flicked down to the princess before she ran her hand through her once golden hair in a most undignified manner, "Hawke we need to speak in private."

The Viscount of Kirkwall felt a muscle in his jaw twitched as he relaxed his jaw he had be unaware he had been clenching. He let his glare hardened and clneched his hands tight, a subtle reminder of exactly who he was… he was the Champion of Kirkwall, the slayer of mages, darkspawn, dragons, demons and quanari.

"Why?"

Petrice straightened as if finding her steel, "Because these are words I wish the child not to hear."

After several long seconds it was every diplomatic Threnhold who broke the silence, "Milord, your Grace with your permission I would like to take her highness to the sanctum to pray for the swift passage of her family to the Maker's side."

"A wonderful idea Lord Threnhold," the Grand Cleric said quickly before Hawke could interject. With a few consoling words Threnhold shepherded the princess towards the inner sanctum and the wafting sweet smell of ritual incense and the chanting of prayers of praise to the Maker.

Once the Viscount and the Grand Cleric were alone in her office Hawke snapped, "What is wrong with you Petrice!"

"Your Grace," the priestess snarled back her earlier indecision replaced with the haughty holier-than-thou tone he remembered from their past meetings, "I am the Grand Cleric of Kirkwall! Appointed by the hand of her holiness Divine Justinia the Fifth! You will treat me with the respect due to my rank!"

Hawke voice was colder than the snowcapped peaks of the Frostback when he finally answered, "It was my recommendation that won you your crosier," he hissed referring to the golden staff that was her badge of office. "I covered up your involvement in goading the quanri into attacking so they could be put down; it was I who covered up your involvement in the murder of Saemus Dumar."

He took a step closer so he towered over the Grand Cleric, "Your nothing without me… remember that," he finished in a voice only a hair above a whisper.

It was a long time before Petrice spoke again and when she did her voice was crasked and fear tinged her body language, "It is not as simple as you believe Hawke," she drew in a deep breath, "the Divine herself has forbidden the Chantry's involvement in the Ferelden-Antivan conflict and to maintain Chantry neutrality at all costs."

"What," Hawke hissed not believing his ears.

"I do not understand what has overcome you in recent months but I cannot involve the Chantry in your mad vendetta against Cecilia Theirin and I certainly cannot shelter the princess from her," Petrice attempted to explain.

"National politics have never stopped the Chantry before," Hawke countered.

The Grand Cleric moved behind her desk and wearily sat down before giving him an even more tired look, "Hawke… it would not be in the Chantry's… best interests to make an enemy of the young dragon of Ferelden," before he would speak she raised her hand, "listen please you must understand."

She stopped and poured herself a half a glass of wine, "You see Orlais is not what it once was. Despite the Empress Celene's best efforts its power begins to wane. The offer of her son in marriage is evidence enough of that," she said then drained half the magenta liquid, "there have been whispers in the Clerical College that perhaps that a new secular protector may be needed."

Hawke's eyes went wide in shock as he processed her words, "Cecilia Theirin… the Defender of the Faith… you must be joking or mad."

Petrice drained the last of the wine, "I am very serious Hawke and besides that is not everything. The Seekers of Truth have reported that the Qunari are gathering strength in the North, fortifying their possessions in Rivian and readying fresh armies. The Divine fears that the Imperium may not be able to hold and if that occurs…"

"You shall need Cecilia's armies," Hawke growled angrily realizing their scheme, "an Antiva as never been of much use in that regards."

"Yes and realize Cecilia's armies are of no use to use if they are bogged down facing rebellions in Antiva," Petrice poured another glass, a full one this time, "or so says the Divine and I agree."

By this point Hawke had his fist clenched so tight that he felt the bones where about to break. It was unbelievable he thought. The Divine was willing to sell out an Andrastian nation in exchange for martial aide. He had no great love for the Antivans but this wasn't right. Finally he voiced, "The girl?

The Grand Cleric who had been studying the wine looked up, "Turn her over to Cecilia. Make your peace with her it is the best interests for Ferelden and Kirkwall. Stop this madness if for no other reason than to save the young men and women of the Home Guard a battle heavily stacked against them."

"And why would Cecilia accept?"

Polishing over her second glass Petrice answered, "The Divine is willing to recognize Cecilia and her heirs as the rightful lords of Antiva from now until the Maker returns to take the faithful to his side. What she requires is the Queen's oath that she will stay her hand from Kirkwall and any other nation of the faith. But the Divine cannot make such an offer as long as you openly challenge Ferelden in this manner."

Hawke starred past Petrice's shoulder, focusing on the painting of Saint Albert of Heetl and then felt his lip twitch into a smile as he did. The story of the saint was one his mother had told him often as a child. Saint Albert had been a martyr in the days before the Emperor Drakon had formerly founded what today is known as the Chantry.

It had been a time where the faith was still persecuted in the southern reaches of Thedas. Albert had been a knight in the service of some lord or count whose name had been lost of the annuals of history, but whatever the man's name he had been a fierce persecutor of the faith. One day the lord had ridden into some unknown town intent on murdering all those who followed Andraste's teaching.

The knight Ser Albert had been gifted a vision of the Prophetess that commanded he protect the innocent people of the small shire. It was said Albert had welcomed the Maker into his soul that day and drew his blade demanding his master stop this madness. With the strength of a dozen men Albert had fought giving the villagers enough time to flee into the safety of the forest.

The knight had been slain and his body mutilated and impaled on a wooden stake as a warning, but the tale spread far and wide and when the First Divine had ascended to the Chantric Throne she had canonized the brave knight as a saint.

The moral of the story was that despite the chances and the whims of fate one should stand for what they believe in and trust the Maker. Again Hawke did not consider himself an overly pious man and not one to look for omens, but of all the saints of the Chantry what was the odds of Grand Cleric Petrice choosing a painting of Saint Albert to grace her office.

Feeling more justified than ever he looked down and caught the Grand Cleric's eyes, "You know I cannot do that."

Petrice sighed, "It is said the Maker watches over Children and Fools. For your sake I hope that is right.

XXX


	10. Chapter 9

**The Dragon Queen: Beginnings **

Chapter 9: Calm Before the Storm

Dead man walking as the old saying went. It was a saying that weighed heavily on Ser Raymond's mind as he led the mostly intact but badly mauled elements of his command back towards Antiva City. Less than three days ago the Queen had commanded him to ride out and overtake the convoy carrying the Antivan Royal children to safety in neighboring Kirkwall.

Everything had started off perfectly. His company had caught up to the Antivans even quicker than he had expected and slaughtered the royals' escorts with minimal difficultly. Yet in that success he had encountered his first snag. During the butchery the infant prince had been killed and the princess has escaped with the help of a Crow assassin who simply refused to die.

Even after that he had mustered his troops and ravenously pursued the princess and the assassin towards the Kirkwall border. He would of have had them at the border had Kirkwall soldiers not crossed the riverand ambushed his men. When the din of battle had faded it revealed his prey had escaped him once more.

And now Raymond was trudging back to his Queen empty-handed with his tail tucked between his legs. What was supposed to be his crowning achievement and propel him to Cecilia's right hand, now that the General Ser Markus Tiberius was to take up the rule of the north of Antiva, was now his shameful failure. Now all he could hope for was some garrison command as castellan of some third-rate fortress near the Wilds.

Raymond glanced back at the small mountain of burning corpses they paused back down the road, mercenary casualties from the storming of the city no doubt, as small kernel of fear worming its way into his gut. Or Cecilia could have an example made of him.

The gnawing feeling grew as he passed through the city gates and it grew even larger as he was told by the gatekeeper that the Queen was waiting for him. A few minutes later he and his company arrived at the palace. The knight in command of the palace guard directed his company to a place were they could be billeted before he escorted Raymond personally into the palace.

While unfamiliar with the layout of the palace itself it wouldn't require a savant to figure out he was being led into the heart of the monolithic structure. His suspicions were confirmed by the time he reached the ornate double door that were guarded by a dozen men-at-arms of the Order.

As he entered the dead king's throne room Raymond noticed the Queen was not alone. There were both knights of the Sovereign's Own and of course was Ser Markus Tiberius the Queen's right hand and general of her armies. The other was Ser Roland, a man he didn't know in person but by reputation.

Ser Roland held a fairly unique position in the order as he held the title of Lord Commander of Gwaren. During the events of the Fifth Blight the House of Mac Tir had proven itself untrustworthy. The result was that they had been stripped of their rule of Gwaren and the land had been annexed as a direct possession of the Royal House. In that was it was just like the former Arling of Amarathine.

The position was nonhereditary and held, appointed and dismissed at Cecilia's discretion ensuring that Gwaren and Amarathine remained under her direct command. Save the office Tiberius held as the General of Her Majesty's Armies it was the highest position one could hold in the Order of the Knights of the Sovereign's Own.

"Ser Raymond," the Queen's sultry but commanding voice torn him from his muses, "welcome back how fared your mission?"

Halting at the foot of the dais the knight dropped to a knee and held his head low partly in fear and partly in shame, "Majesty," he started his throat suddenly very dry, "I have… I have failed you."

With that admission the events of the past days spilled from his lips and he explained what had occurred. He told her about the pursuit of the caravan and his attack. He told her about the death of the infant prince and the princess's escape. He explained that the thrice-cursed assassin had been there as well and had been instrumental in helping the Antivan princess elude him. Lastly he informed his queen of the ambush and Kirkwall's involvement.

When he finished he fell silent waiting for the inevitable explosion to occur. He waited for her to rage and him, strip him of title and rank and cast him out of the Order or perhaps even worse… send him to the Peak, but it never came.

To his surprise the next words the Queen of Ferelden said were, "The mission is on no consequence… I never expected you to succeed and the fact that you came so close speaks highly of your abilities and the abilities of your company."

Raymond's head snapped up look stare the Queen in her ice blue eyes. He held her gaze only for a second before a jolt of terror ran down his spine and he broke away from her hypnotic gaze, "I… I do not understand."

"In offering succor to the princess, Hawke would have placed himself against us in the eyes of the world," Cecilia explained taking on the tone of teacher to a student, "an open challenge if you will. Now," her voice hardened dangerously, "the Viscount of Kirkwall has murdered my men and I will take payment for their blood in turn."

A small smile touched the knight's lips and he clenched his fists at his side. He liked the sound of that. Very few people could claim to know the mind of Cecilia Theirin and Raymond had to admit he wasn't one of them. What he did know was that she was not one to issue threats lightly. Kirkwall would burn for its Viscount's sins and he would be there to see it done.

"Get some rest Raymond form you and your men," the Queen continued pulling him from his revelry, "take care of your wounded and find something to eat," a cold smile touched her face and an even colder look shown in her eyes, "I have an assignment for you. One I think you shall rather enjoy."

XXX

After the Queen's orders Ser Raymond and Ser Roland had departed, the latter of which only after receiving his orders assemble the armies of Gwaren and take them north to receive the surrender of the Antivan nobles who may be… reluctant relinquish their lordships without the visible threat of force present.

With the death of their king and surrender of their capital city most of the fight had gone out of the remaining nobility. What was left would die when they saw the ten thousand man host bearing down on their lands.

Once the pair of knight had left Ser Markus Tiberius turned to his Queen with a thoughtful expression written on his face as he tried to phrase the question that had entered into his mind. She must have seen his confusion and thoughts through his expression and turned to him, "I was lying of course about that all being planned… if you were wondering."

He had been as a matter of fact. It had worried him, the queen's words. If they had been true if would have meant she had been lying to or at the least misleading him. That was her right of course but Tiberius had known the Queen since she had been a child and on a more professional level was her right hand. That she would feel the need to conceal something of this nature from him would have cut deeply.

"War like life is fluid and ever changing and one must change their plans accordingly," she started matter of factly as she brought a glass of fine wine to her lips, "while Hawke's actions were not expected to the extent he took them the results of his rash actions will do nothing but strengthen our position and hurt his."

Tiberius nodded in agreement. Then after several moments of silence he added, "And Kirkwall?"

The General watched as Cecilia's eyes narrowed dangerously and her voice took on a lethal tone, "Now that I have no further use for the man I believe it is time we teach Hawke not to interfere in the affairs of his betters."

"I could not agree more," he agreed earnestly. Hawke and Kirkwall had been a thorn in his and the Queen's side for far too long. He was also the last loose end in their very complicated scheme, though of course Hawke had no way of knowing it. The sooner the Viscount's soul was sent screaming into the Fade the better and after every grievance the arrogant bastard had foisted on him and the Queen, Tiberius would be more than happy to do it himself.

"Now Tiberius," Cecilia said as she downed another glass of magenta wine, "I want you to begin preparations to move our forces south to Kirkwall within two days. I want to be at the border with ten thousand men within the week."

Running through the numbers in his head he paused before nodding. The Sovereign's Own would supply about a third of the strength even with a large portion of the order heading north with Roland the rest would come from the host of Highever. The Arls and Banns who would not heading north with Ser Roland would be staying behind with Arl Teagan in Antiva City to garrison the south of the country.

"Everything will be ready," Tiberius promised.

XXX

The House of Ram, Charles thought with a snort into his brandy, hardly a subtle name. The three story white brick building in the wealthy district of the capital city was what the Antivans' called a House of Leisure. It had the elements of a tavern, a theater and a whorehouse all rolled into one catering to the desires of the nobility and the rich.

As it stood Prince Charles only availed himself to the drinks and theater and stayed away from the whores… something some of the nobles were enjoying to their fullest. Then again perhaps they earned it. The Fereldan's had done something he would have deemed impossible.

He glanced around again noticing that amongst all the nobles and the knights here that there was not a single black cloak of the Queen's men. Then a thought clicked as he remembered hearing something about the Queen not liking her elite to mix with the others… she probably didn't want loose tongues wagging.

"Ahh Charles my friend," a booming voice called and it took him but a second to recognize the voice as belonging to Arl Chester of the West Hills, "tis could to see you here."

"Chester," Charles answered the big brutish looking man before him. The burley Arl had been the first man over the walls in the siege and was one of the biggest and most ferocious men Charles had ever met. He was also a man with whom he had forged a friendship of sorts with.

The Arl ordered a stout ale, or at least what passes for ale in this part of the world, and sat down across from him, "Have you heard the news my friend?"

Cocking his head the Prince of Orlais queried, "What news?"

"I heard from Tiberius mind you… the bloody bastard himself," the Arl whispered conspiratorially as he leaned forward pitching his voice so only Charles could hear him, "The Queen is assembling ten thousand to march on Kirkwall."

Charles was surprised by that. He had known Kirkwall and Garret Hawke had been making themselves a thorn in the Queen's, but he had no idea relations had gone this sour. He wondered what had caused relations to devolve to this, but had a feeling the Arl was going to tell him.

"Apparently the Viscount ambushed some of our men in the South of Antiva as they were escorting Princess Anna back to the city," the Arl of the West Hills said with a shake of his head, "they murdered some good men and the Queen's out for blood… a lot of it."

"Damm," Charles swore softly and shook his head, "I wonder what the Viscount is thinking?

"I have no idea," the big Arl said as he downed his second drink of the night, "but what I do know is that he shall not live to see another summer."

The Prince of Orlais nodded as he thought the news over, "Kirkwall," he muttered under his breath. The city was amongst the wealthiest cities in all Thedas. Its capture would be another jewel in Cecilia's already expansive crown. "When do we leave?"

"Two days," he said, "Tiberius and the Queen want us ready to move in two days."

Charles opened his mouth to say that ten thousand fighting men, their supplies and auxiliaries couldn't possibly assembled in two days, but that thought died stillborn. The might of the Queen's army was still encamped on the outskirts of the city and on its war footing so it wouldn't be as hard as he first thought, "Very well," Charles finally said, "I and my men will be ready."

"To war and glorious victory," Chester said raising his glass of ale in toast.

"To victory my friend," Charles said echoing the gesture before downing his own drink and tossing a gold coin on the table to cover the cost of his drinks. "Now if you excuse me I must see to my men," and while he was at it he would go see the Queen as well.

XXX

Garret Hawke Viscount of Kirkwall sighed as he felt warm rays of the Maker's light caressing his bearded face from his lofty position at the very crown of the Viscount's Keep. From his tower he could the sight of his sprawling city, safe for the moment behind the strong arms of her guards her onyx walls.

To the north lay the rest of the proud cities states of the Free Marches and beyond them the ancient Imperium of the Mage Lords and the alien terror of the Qunari hordes. To the West lay stubborn Neverra and proud Orlais the grandest of all the kingdoms of man. In the South was the Waking Sea with its emerald waters and Ferelden the land of his birth now the realm of a mortal foe, but it wasn't the South worried him now.

Feeling his age and then some Hawke finally turned his wizened eyes to where the heart of his problem lied .It lay East across the Vimmark Mountains to the land of the Antiva the home of assassins and the merchant princes. What was once a proud land now lay pinned beneath the boot heel of Cecilia Theirin Queen of Ferelden and her armies… armies that would soon encroach upon the land and people he had sworn an oath before the Maker of Mankind to protect.

He grimaced as he thought of the upcoming battle. Despite the army he assembled, he trained from the ground up he knew the fight ahead would not be an easy one. The Queen of Ferelden's armies were vast and well trained and bloodied on the fields of battle while his were not. The officers were noblemen of good breeding, after all he needed their support and more importantly their money, but they were ill suits to the rigors of command and war.

That was one of the reasons that his choice of battlefield was so important and why he had been out to inspect the battlefield personality. He needed every advantage he could lay hands on if he hoped to best the Queen's knights on the field of war at the art for which they were bred and raised. Again he reminded himself that he did not need to destroy Cecilia's army, but wound her enough to shatter her illusion of invincibility.

So lost in thought was the Viscount of Kirkwall he almost didn't hear the sound of metal boots of the cold unforgiving stone of the Keep. On instinct he turned half drawing his greatsword from its silver inlaid sheath.

"Easy old friend," a voice said belonging of Lord Alexander Threnhold. The nobleman held his up in a nonthreatening gesture.

Cursing, Hawke re-sheathed his blade annoyed by his lack of concentration that had allowed an old man to slip up on him and catch him unaware. Turning back away from his my friend and comrade, Hawke faced the amber glow of the setting sun and said, "What brings you here?"

"I bring… bad news," he started slowly as he came to rest beside the Viscount. Hawke turned his head to face the man he had called friend these many years and was again shocked to see how much he had aged.

Grimacing he asked even though he truly didn't want to know what had Threnhold looking even more haggard than he usually was these days, "What has happened?"

"Antivan City has fallen," he said with a sullen, quiet tone.

Hawke starred at the nobleman with shock plain on his features. He had expected the siege of the Antivian capital to drag on for weeks or even months. He had planned for the Queen's army to squander at least a portion of its strength on those walls. He'd hoped for the monotony and dreariness of siege warfare to take a toll on their will, but most of all he had been dependent on the time to raise and train an additional two-thousand or so troops.

"How," he finally managed after the shock of the announcement faded enough for him to regain his senses.

Threnhold shook his head, "I am sorry my friend but the reports coming in do not paint a clear picture, but I would wager that one of the mercenary companies may have betrayed old Castlen… it would certainty explain the ease with which the city was taken."

"And Cecilia? Do your spies report where the queen shall turn her gaze and her armies next," Hawke queried once more putting faith in the elder nobleman and his spies, "will she head north to quell what remains of the Antivian nobility there?"

Alexander was silent for a moment before answering warily, "I cannot be sure. If he has not been caught my last man will have left by now and we shall have to wait for him to report."

"Your opinion?"

Again Threnhold hesitated, "Cecilia is as proud as they come. She will not allow your challenge or assault on her men to go unpunished," the man sighed heavily, "I fear this is a feud that will end only in death… yours or hers."

XXX

From the saddle of her massive destrier Cecilia sat, surrounded a cadre of knights of her private guard and by the General Tiberius, Prince Charles, her uncle Teryrn Cousland ,Arl Teagen, and the young Lord Gawain Cousland her cousin and soon to be teyrn of Southern Antiva. Each noble was glad in their finest battle regalia their armor gleaming in the morning sun and their heraldic banners fluttering in the breeze.

The gently rolling on which the noble part sat mounted overlooked both the city and the road south. It was a perfect position from which to watch the Queen's ten thousand warriors stream from the gates of the city along the road that would take them once more to war. Though it was barely a fifth the strength of the host she had brought with her to Antiva it was an impressive and deadly force to reckon with.

The host was compose of nearly all the might of the Sovereign's Own save those thousand that would march North with the Lord Commander of Gwaren and the Bannorn to destroy any last hope of organized resistance. The rest of the Queen's host would be comprised of the flower of Highever's chivalry, the fearsome Dalish mounted archers and the murderous berserkers recruited from the savage Chasnid tribes that lived in the Korcari Wilds.

"I wish I could be going with you cousin," the young lordling of Highever, Gawain Cousland, said from his chestnut stallion in a wistful tone as he starred longingly at the column.

From out the corner of her eye Cecilia watched with an amused look as her uncle the Teyrn of Highever gave his son a disapproving glare, but she silenced the elder Cousland with a disarming smile. Turning back to her cousin she said patiently, "You need to see to the affairs of your new Teynir and other than your father I can think of know better man to help you than our uncle Arl Teagan."

The Arl of Redcliffe inclined his head, "You honor me more than I deserve."

Teagan like Fergus was one of the few she could trust, though not with her deepest secrets and plans. Fergus was loyal because of the blood they shared and because she was the only child of his beloved little sister. Teagen was loyal to her as the heir to the throne of Calenhad the Silver Knight and grandchild of Maric who had been his brother in arms and through the marriage of his sister. He would be a good mentor to the young Cousland and his advice would be sound and trustworthy to guide Gawain while the Queen and Teyrn where in the South dealing with the problem in Kirkwall.

"I am trusting you Arl Tegan to oversee the south and teach my cousin while we deal with the upstart Hawke," Cecilia said in a tone that was friendly but not lacking for steel. It was a warning of what would happen if he failed or displeased her in any way.

"I shall not fail you my Queen," the Arl of Redcliffe promised.

Cecilia nodded before turning her gaze back to her army. Gripping her reigns tight in her hands she spurred her horse forward with Tiberius, Charles and Fegrus and their respective guards following behind creating an impressive armored phalanx on men and horse gleaming in the bright yellow of the sun.

She approached the column the scarlet red dragon seemed to leap off the obsidian banner and the sight of her personal standard sent up a roar amongst the soldiers. Cecilia wolfishly grinned as took the red dragon from its standard bearer and held it high above her head. As she did the excitement of the soldiers in the column rose as they beat their shields and thrust their swords and spears into the air let loose cheers and praise.

They were proud of her… she had led them across the Waking Sea to a foreign land most had never seen or would ever make it to. She had conquered said land bringing glory and honor to their kingdom and themselves. They now stood as a premier power amongst the great nations of the world with prestige their fathers and forefathers could never have dreamed of.

And… and she had made them all wealthy men. The ransom she had extorted from the Merchant's guild plus the money she had taken from what was left of the Antivian Royal Treasury and the sums recovered from the bloody remnants of the mercenary companies had been largely dispersed amongst the ranks. Evenly the lowest levy and man-at-arms would go home with more wealth than they or their families had ever before possessed.

The un-landed men and women were looking at their new found wealth and hungrily turning their gaze to the lands that their liege lords could grant to them possibly propelling them beyond their current station. Land would grant them better position for marriages and for the future of any children they might have.

It was of course part of her grand designs. When the bulk of her army returned home to Ferelden her numbers here would be severely reduced. Those who remained would serve as a force that could be called if need be to fight. It also had the effect intermixing her Fereldans with the native population strengthening her claim up on the land.

The Queen of Ferelden had treated them well and showed that she cared for them and their futures, in return they loved her… it may have been a misplaced love, but they did love her and would fight the demons of the Fade if she asked for it. All she had to do in turn was give them victory.

XXX

Ser Markus Tiberius the 'bloody bastard' as he was known to the Orlesians watched as the men cheered their Queen. It made him proud to see the men react to her in this way. They feared and respected him and would follow him into battle but they would never love him… his reputation prevented that. Soldiers would do things for her out of love that they would never do for him out of fear.

Where they cheered wherever the Queen went they merely acknowledged his presence with curt but respectful nods and hushed whispered tones. Other men, lesser men might be angered… furious, jealous that their star was eclipsed by a woman who was barely out of her childhood years. Many treacheries had been carried out by underlings envious of their master's power. Kings, Emperors, Consuls and even on rare occasions the Divine herself fell that the hands of those they should have been able to trust.

A smile flicked across Tiberius's face even though it was hidden behind the faceplate of his great horned helm as a thought raced through his mind. Even Andraste the Maker's chosen prophet had been brought down by the betrayal of her husband who had been jealous of the Maker's preeminence in the eyes of his wife.

Tiberius was content to serve the wishes of his Queen standing at her side as she issued the world into a new age as she ushered her reign over all of Thedas. When Cecilia stood triumph over the Maker and his servants and re-ascended to godhood he would be her right hand from then until the end of days. Power, immortality and unending conflict would be his once the War God reigned supreme… that was his reward.

"General," a knight responded with a polite nod as Tiberius reached his position in the vanguard of the Queen's army.

"Ser Edgar," Tiberius responded as he and his guard settle into their marching order, "How far our elven friends?"

The knight grunted beneath his helm. The Queen would often place a company of mounted knights and Elven horsemen out in front of the man army to scout ahead for traps and ambushes. The Elves on their mares and leather armor were lighter and fare swifter than the knights of the Sovereign's Own and could harass any foe they found with a deadly rain of arrows before the armored horsemen charged in a wave of steel.

The partnership of the elves and these knights was still relatively new and prejudice invariably took ages to overcome. Still they had developed a hard won mutual appreciation of each other's skills. The Elves were masters of wood craft and stealth in ways that the knights or the human scouts could never compare. They were not friends, the knights and men-at-arms of the Sovereign's Own and the elves, they would and perhaps could never be, but they would work together.

"They separated from the column for patrols almost as soon as we departed," the knight said tossing his head in their direction of travel.

"They have keen senses," Tiberius reproached. Though he too had no great love of elves finding them subpar warriors on the field of battle he did admit that they were superior scouts and hunters.

Remembering his history he knew that the Elven armies were master ambushers and had bloodied the Chevaliers of Orlais on several occasions, striking out from their woods and disappearing before the Orlesians could respond. Yet when forced to stand and give battle they were inevitable defeated. The Queen had known that as well and had decided to use them as scouts and skirmishers where their hit-and-fade tactics would be most effective.

A shout sounded from their right signaling the approach of riders a second shout confirmed it as an elven scouting party returning from patrol. Riding up to Tiberius the lead elf named Helvetii , his position denoted by the elaborate swirling tattoos etched into his face, said, "General we caught this one fleeing the city."

Once of the other scouts turned their mare to reveal a man bound and gagged secured over the horse's rear. Tiberius maneuvered his stallion closer to the scout's mare, reached out and taking a fistful of the man's hair wretched his head up so he could a good look at him. Tiberius didn't recognize the man but that in itself didn't mean anything.

"Who is he," Tiberius questioned.

"I do not know," Helvetii shrugged, "but he was found with much gold, maps of the city and the strength of this host."

Tilting his head he looked down on the man in new light, "A spy," the general growled in a low tone as he released the man's head letting it bang against the side of the horse. Tiberious mulled over his options for a few moments, "You two," the general said pointing to two mounted men-at-arms, "Take this man to the rear. The Queen will want to question him personally once we make camp for the night."

Several of the knights and men-at-arms of the Order flinched at the general's words knowing the Queen's temperament in such matters as spies and assassins. They knew that man would not be long for this life and would soon find himself in the world beyond, cast adrift on the eddies of the Fade for all time.

Once the men-at-arms had secured their prisoner on the back of one of their draft horse they began to trot back along the column toward the Queen's guard where they would present their captive to those handpicked knights.

Turning to the elf Tiberius gave him curt nod, "Well done Helvetii. Once again you and your men have proven your worth. The Queen will know of this."

"She already knows of my worth horned-one," the elder elf said his eyes hard and the distain in his eyes for the General was clear, but Tiberius did detect a note of pride in the elf's voice.

Tiberius nearly laughed but managed to keep a straight face. Something just occurred to him. This was what the world was coming to… what the new order Cecilia created. It would be a collection of men and women clamoring to sit at her feet. Glancing up at the sun as it rose in the sky he smiled… he had a good feel about this one.

XXX

When night began to fall the army slowed to a crawl and then as the last traces of light vanished beneath the mountains the great host of Ferelden halted and made camp. They had made good distance for the size of the host they had brought and within the week they would cross the border with Kirkwall and hit the city less than two days later.

Not that Cecilia expected to fight Garret Hawke on the walls of his city. While vast and impressive the city would not survive a siege. If the Viscount intended to save his city he must leave his walls and venture out to face her in the field. Glancing down at the map laid out on the oak wood table in her tent Cecilia knew exactly where the battle would take place.

Her man in Kirkwall had relayed the number of men the Viscount had raised for the city's defense. Five thousand against her ten were not good odds. If Hawke was half as smart as she had been led to believe he'll have picked out the field on which battle was given tilt the scales of fate in his favor.

The place where the fate of Kirkwall would be decided was called the Wounded Coast. It was a place where the mountains pressed against the coast creating a narrow sliver of land which was the only approach to the ancient city. There was a spot on the coast which was narrower than the rest. That was the spot where he would wait for her. She knew this because it was exactly what she would have done in his position.

Finally she turned to look down on the prisoner who was kneeling before her. She had to give him credit for his bravery for despite the fact that he was obviously terrified he did not beg or plead for his life. Even though the knights that flanked him had beaten him bloody he had refused to talk. The fact that she was here outside the privacy of her palace or the Peak she couldn't revert the darker, magical arts of interrogation.

Still she admitted that there was nothing that he could tell her that she did not know or could guess herself and it did no good to engage in simple sadism despite the urges. Turning to the knight she gave him barely visible nod and the man produced a piece of rope.

While one held him in place the other faceless black knight stepped behind him and wrapped the rope around the spy's neck. The man struggle for what seemed like a long time before his restless and frantic movements stilled. Once the movements had ceased the knight held on a little longer before releasing his grip.

Wordlessly the knight gripped the dead man by the wrist while the second grabbed his ankles. Emotionlessly they dragged the man from the Queen's tent to dump the man's body in the latrine pit where the smell would be less easily noticed.

Once gone Cecilia stood rolling up her map and replacing it with the others before heading through a hanging curtain to where her cot rested. A female squire was waiting for her and began to strip her of her armor placing it on the stand next to the cot. Once finished the squire made to leave as quickly as she could clearly unsettle by the armor's malign presence; it was common enough that most would associate it with simply being unnerved by the presence of their liege lord.

A rustle of cloth caught her attention causing her to glance to in the direction of the tent flap where Charles of Orlais had entered, his helm tucked in the crook of his arm a smile on his face as he saw her lying on her cot.

A part of her… a very small part of her felt bad at what she was doing to this man. A part of her cared for him, but it was not enough stop her from doing what she had to do. The Prince was a necessary part of her plans and she would see them through despite the cost. The same humane part of her wished there was a way for Charles to endure what was to come but there was not. If might not come for years, but a day would come when Charles of Orlais would prove more of a hindrance to her designs than an asset. When that day came she would… do what she needed to do.

"Cecilia are you alright," a voice said and Cecilia looked up shocked to find Charles had closed the distance between them and was now standing over her. Seconds later she felt his gloved hand caress her cheek, the rough leather dragging over her porcelain skin. "What is the cause of your tears?"

Horrified Cecilia brought her right hand to touch her face and felt dampness that had not been there before. She opened her mouth to deny that anything was wrong but found she could not speak. Instead the next thing she was aware of was strong arms wrapping in her a comforting embrace.

XXX

Ser Raymond gripped the deck rail as the Trading Cog rolled again in the waves cursing as it did. Raymond and his company had boarded the day after the Queen had departed with her army drawing the eyes of any spies in the city with them.

"Maker's ass," the knight cursed and grasped his stomach as he felt another quiver of nausea shoot through him. He was a soldier, a warrior, a master of the art of the horse, the sword, the shield, the spear and the lance. He was not and never wished to be a sailor. For him the sea held no allure. It was a thing of fear and horror and the promise of a watery grave.

The boat rocked again and next to him another knight lost the battle of wills with the see-saw motion and voided the contents of his stomach over the edge. The action was quickly followed by two more knights and a couple of men-at-arms.

From behind all of them their came the throaty laugh of the Highever born captain who had been handpicked by Queen Cecilia to command the galley just as she had handpicked Raymond to lead the assault troops. Unlike Raymond who had been born far from the coast in central Ferelden the captain had grown up upon the sea and was far more suited to it than he.

Raymond looked to his right where he saw the barely visible Antivian coastline and then up to see the black sails of a pirate fluttering from the mast. While he despised the fact he was forced to travel under the banner of an outlaw he understood the reasoning behind it. A warship bearing the Queen's colors would draw unwanted attention as whereas singe pirate ship off the Antivian coast would be able to slip through unnoticed.

He understood it, but he didn't mean to like it. There were few people the knight from the little town of St. Giles would swallow his pride for, but his Queen, his liege lord was among them. He loved and respected her more than anyone in all his life, he'd risk everything down to his life and own immortal soul for her.

He also owed the Viscount a debt of Vengeance for the deaths of his men at the border and Raymond would see that debt paid in full. He'd promised to carve the name of each of the men he'd lost into the stone of Hawke's throne and this mission would allow him to do just that. Raymond let his hand slip to his side to caress the blade sheathed had his side… soon he murmured softly, soon.

"It's all going to be over," the grisly voice of Ser Robert called from behind him. The big knight had a ill look on his face look on his face and not one of a sickly nature.

He turned to look back at the other knight and felt his lip twist. Raymond was a man who followed his orders and carried them out to the best of his ability, but he took not great pleasure from the death and suffering they caused. All he wanted was to serve his Queen and Country, protect his men, avenge their deaths and get them home.

Robert on the other hand loved battle for battle's sake. He was a simple butcher… a man who killed for the sake of killing. There were always uses for such men in battle, but Raymond didn't have to like it. Whenever he looked at the man he remembered the sight of the knight holding the broken body of the infant prince of Antiva, but whatever his feelings towards the man he was devoted to Cecilia's cause and therefore bearable.

"You are wrong Robert," Ser Raymond said rapping his armored fingers on the deck rail, "this has just begun."

XXX

It had taken another day's forced march to reach the Antivan border and cross it. Prince Charles found himself up in the vanguard allowing General Tiberius to slip back to the Queen's side. Truth be told he wouldn't have wanted to be anywhere else than up in the front.

Out ahead of the main body the Prince found himself with a small group of elven scouts and two of his elite chevaliers. They were concealed beneath some underbrush watching as a party of Kirkwall horsemen trotted by. These were no doubt scouts for the Kirkwall army out looking for the approach of their foe. It was a shame that these men would never complete their mission or see their city again.

Charles tightened his grip on his crossbow and shifted his gaze to look at the elven chief Helvetii and was once more impressed with the man's skill in the art of woodcraft. Though Charles couldn't see them he knew that there were three more detachments of archers hidden in the wood line all waiting for the signal.

The approaching Kirkwall horsemen were lightly armored, outfitted for mobility not sustained combat. These were scouts after all meant to reconnaissance the area, to serve as the eyes and ears of an army in garrison or on the move. They were not expected to engage enemy infantry or duke it out with heavy cavalry. It also meant that they were far more vulnerable to enemy attack. It was standard

A low series of bird calls sounded from Helvetti and Charles raised his crossbow while the other's notched their arrows and then they waited. It was a soldiers lot in life to hurry up and sramble to get ready and then wait. Fortunately he didn't have to wait long before Helvetti let his first arrow fly free.

The lead Kirkwall scout's hand flew up to his neck that was suddenly pierced by an arrow. The rest of the men stared in shock at the man as he slumped over and fell from his horse. They were green, Charles noted, slow to react and new to the chaos of war and they died for it. They never hand time to do anything else as Charles sighted in the next man sending a bolt careening into his chest followed by a hail of arrows from invisible firers. The other horsemen died before even knowing what happened.

Charles watched as the spooked now riderless horses took off some still dragging dead bodies behind them. The horses would be retrieved and put to use by the elves as they were nothing if not a resourceful people. The Prince made to stand up, but a strong hand on his shoulder kept him down. He tossed a glare in the elf chief's direction.

"We wait Orlesian… to see if they have friends," Helvetti whispered as he silently notched another arrow

Slowly he nodded waiting and listening for any man made sounds, but the only ones he heard where the moans of dying men which were quickly silenced by white fletched arrows. Several minutes later when they were sure the Kirkwallers were dead Charles watched as a group of elves moved out and began to drag the bodies off the road.

From prior experience with the Dalish the Prince of Orlais knew that the elves would strip the bodies of anything useful and hen burry them in shallow graves erasing any signs of the conflict that had claimed these men's lives. The Prince felt a slight amount of amusement at the twist of fate. It wasn't but a few years ago that he'd been in the same position tracking down an elusive group of Dalish bandits operating in the Wilds of northern Orlais.

During his sweeps through the countryside he lost men to elven ambushes only to never find them again or on the rare occasions he did find them they were stripped of any useful equipment. This had forced his men to travel in large well organized parties for fear of vanishing into the ancient woods. It had been an… inconvenience to say the least. Now he was working with them… well the world was full of little ironies wasn't it.

"Now we can move Orlesian," the elf said gruffly.

As he stood Charles turned toward the chieftain, "So why do you do it serve Cecilia? You are of the Dalish not Ferelden. What do the Queen's ambitions mean to you?"

The elf sighed deeply as he rose and after giving a few orders to his men turned back saying, "She gives my people hope. In return for the service we provide she had promised us the land south of Lorein and Ostagar to be our own; to exist under her protection for all time."

The Prince went over it in his head. If he was not mistake that was the lands called, "The Korcari Wilds," he finished the thought out loud. "Hardly a hospitable place to build a future."

The elf smiled bitterly, "It is more than we have at the moment. The Queen had promised us aid to building a future and taming the wilds of the south. It is a chance to rebuilt Dales and Elvhenan. It is a chance for us to live once more as a people, worshiping our gods and living our way."

Charles nodded understanding the vehemence that had shown in the elf's tone as he finished. These were a people who had lost much, more than any man or dwarf could ever understand. Cecilia had offered them hope, a chance to regain even a bit of what they had lost and the elves had seized the offer with both hands.

He could not tell whether he should pity them or congratulate them.

XXX

The sword flashed a bare inch from his throat as the Viscount backpedaled spinning to the side to avoid the shield strike. Using the momentum to his favor he brought his greatsword about slamming it into his opponent's flank. The force of the blow caused his opponent to buckle and fall to the mat clenching their side.

Had the swords been real and not the magically blunted practice weapons gifted to the Viscount as a gift from the newly reconstructed Circle of Magi. Garret Hawke had been wary to accept any gift from the successors of the Circle he had so ruthlessly destroyed, but eventually Threnhold had persuaded him to accept the peace offering for what it was. Breathing heavily Hawke summoned a squire and handed off the exquisitely crafted greatsword to the young eager nobleman before turning back to offer his hand to his fallen foe.

Guard-Captain Aveline Vallen stirred taking off her helm revealing red hair now tinged with grey. Never destined to be a beautiful woman Aveline had trained to master the art of sword and shield from a very young age becoming one of the most capable fighters in the Free Marches. Now she was his second in command in everything military in Kirkwall just as Alexander Threnhold was his second in everything economic and political.

"Still as good as ever Hawke," the captain of the Home Guard said as she stood shakily holding her side, "From what I have heard you shall need every bit of skill you possess to best her Hawke. Do not underestimate Cecilia old friend or it will be the end of everything we have worked so hard for over the years."

Hawke nodded slowly. Of all the friends he gather over the years those who had been with him through thick and thin, had seen him rise from nothing to Champion and the Viscount's throne only Aveline Vallen had remained. Only she and Alexander were left of the original cadre and he treasured both of them for their advice and perhaps more importantly their friendship.

"Do you think we can win," Hawke asked cursing himself for the waver in his tone. He was supposed to be sure, to display the confidence the others would need to see this conflict through.

"If you mean to defeat Cecilia in open war then my answer is no definitely not," the woman cocked her head, "If you mean the upcoming battle than yes I believe we can. As you said the force she can bring to bear against us is limited as she still has to hold down what she has taken and claim the North before resistance can form," Aveline took in a deep breath, "If we can beat her on the Wounded Coast then everything will be worth it."

Once more Hawke nodded knowing he could always count on her for an honest assessment. By this time they had both handed off their weapons, removed their armor and were on their way through the back halls from the private training area at the base of they keep towards his private living apartments.

The Viscount's Keep was a massive sprawling complex built ages past by the Magister Lord Emerius Krayvan to serve as both a lavish mansion to entertain the highest of Tevinter officials and nobles and a fortress from which he could oversee the slave trade conducted through the city. The keep was as imposing as it was elegant and it was a home Hawke had never quite gotten used to.

"Milord," a panting voice called and Hawke spun to see his dwarven manservant Bodhan, "Lord Hawke, Lord Threnhold is searching for you. He says it is most urgent."

"Where is he?"

"Your study," he answered and Hawke thanked the Dwarf.

Hawke and Aveline exchanged pleasantries and the Guard-Captain retreated to join her guardsmen for preparation for the events to come. Moving more quickly than was perhaps dignified for a man in his position he began the trek from his current position to his private study or at least restricted to him and his closest confidants. The study like his quarters was nestled near the top of the Keep as far away from the audience chamber and as daily work in ruling the city as possible.

He reached the antechamber to his apartments and passed the two pairs of guards which had orders not to let anyone but himself, Threnhold, Aveline, and Bodhan pass. The men saluted as the sunlight which filtered through the stain-glass windows reflected off the high sheen of their polished armor making them look like the valorous spirits of the Fade.

Inside the first chamber on the left sitting in a plush high back chair and sipping at a fine glass of wine was Lord Alexander Threnhold. The elder man wore a look of mixed tiredness and worry that seemed all too common these days. As Hawke entered the chamber Threnhold stood and clasped his arm in greeting.

"Alexander my friend what troubles," the Viscount asked concerned.

"I have received word from the borderland," he started and Hawke felt the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach grow, "The Queen's army is on the move towards us. Within a day, two at the most she will cross our borders."

"Your agents?"

"Dead most likely," the lord sighed, "The patrols you sent out have yet to report either," he took a deep breath, "she is coming Garret I know she is."

Hawke frowned. Without Threnhold's spies and his patrols Kirkwall was all but blind. The scouts Hawke had sent out as soon as he had heard word than the Queen had taken Antivan City had had strict orders to report via rider every morning. They were good men who wouldn't miss a check in unless… unless they were all dead.

As the thought hit him he realized that if his patrols had been wiped out than the Queen's army could be closer than even Alexander thought. A stream of curses slipped from his lips that would have most assuredly earned him a clout on the ear had his mother still be alive."

"We need to get the army assembled and on the move and we need to do it quickly Alexander," Hawke said the urgency in his tone causing Threnhold to glance up from his drink, "What about Anna? Have your contacts located a safe place for her to stay."

Threnhold hesitated and Hawke thought he saw a flash of sadness in his eyes, "Yes, yes I believe I have. As a matter I received a letter some days ago saying they were setting sail."

Feeling relieved that that problem had worked itself out he clapped his old friend on the shoulder. Now all he had to do was defeated the Queen's army on the field and everything would be set for her downfall and finally he'd have his justice.

XXX

The self-styled Witch of the Wilds wasn't sure if she should be pleased or abhorred at the progress she was making. The creature, the former patrician magister, who actually bestrode the pearl streets of the Golden City all those eons ago, a fact that Morrigan found hard to believe, seemed to have an endless supply of darkspawn on which to experiment. And endless supply that was very much needed.

To Morrigan's horror she had discovered why. In the bowels of the Soldier's Peak always guarded by a dozen of the ominous juggernauts was a darkspawn broodmother. From where Cecilia had procured the creature… or even worse who she had sacrificed to create the horrid abomination Morrigan did not know nor care to know. All Morrigan cared about was never going down into that chamber again.

After shaking off terrible memories about that last time she had ventured into the abysmal depths of the Deep Roads and the ancient dwarven thaigs Morrigan had thrown herself back into her grisly work with some success. Even after all these years it was a horror she would never forget.

Using a series of mystical devices the witch doubted had been seen since the heyday of the Imperium's power Morrigan had been able to make progress in extracting the magical essence of the darkspawn taint. The fatality rate among the test subjects had been nearly complete, but the survival of the creatures had not been a concern.

Still seeing them drawn apart and what pathetic life essences they had ripped from them in a horribly, terrible spell made even her fridged heart cringe. It was though not from sympathy but out of sheer horror of what was being done. This ritual, these techniques were amongst the blackest she had ever seen even including those that her 'mother' Flemeth had conceived.

Taking a deep breath Morrigan placed her hand on the obelisk device's pedestal and opened herself up to the magic that dwelt within her allowing it to flow like a river into the device. A bluish haze surrounded the obelisk like device swirling at the top like a small hurricane. When the storm built to its climax a bolt of white lightning leapt from the center of the swirl and connected with the darkspawn creature chained to the opposite wall.

Unlike natural lightning which vanished after impact this magical lightning remained the tip dancing over the darkspawn's corrupted form. As the lightning danced its color began to darken as it drew the taint from the creature. After what to Morrigan seemed like an eternity but in actuality was only hundred hearbeats the now midnight black lightning detached and like a worm on a hook wigged as it was pulled back towards the obelisk.

Then like ink spreading through water the lightning began to disperse the taint causing the magical energy surrounding the obelisk to change from blue-white to black. Morrigan tense readying herself for the most difficult part of her task. Mustering her will she drew the blackened magic down the obelisk and focusing it into a small gem in the middle of the pedestal.

Finally when the magic had abated Morrigan gingerly severed the link between herself and the arcane device knowing that a single mistake could see her soul shredded or her mind destroyed or perhaps even worse see her defenses fall and a demon consume her. With a shudder that shook the chamber Morrigan separated herself from the pedestal.

Morrigan collapsed backwards onto the cushioned chair which had been placed their after the first time she had fallen flat on her ass. Hearing the scrapping of metal on stone she glanced up seeing two juggernauts removing a charred, lifeless husk of a body from the wall chains. The bodies, she had learned, would be taken and feed to the broodmother in a sick perversion of life.

Then she looked down at the blackened jewel sitting in the center of the pedestal. Slowly after recovering a little bit of her strength she pushed herself up wiping at the sweat that had dripped down her brow and intro her eyes. Reach out she laid her hand upon the stone before snatching it away as it nearly seared her flesh.

A third juggernaut approached and took the stone off the pedestal. It would take the gem back down to join the others where Corypheus would prepare it for the ritual once the rest of the ingredients were assembled, whatever they were. All Morrigan knew was the end was rapidly approaching… whose end she did not know.

**Sorry this took so long… I've been out for month training with the Army. **


	11. Chapter 10

**The Dragon Queen: Beginnings **

Chapter 10: Check

_Steady… breathe deeply sight your target along the shaft, release and repeat. The small boy did as he was taught and put arrow after arrow into the gold center ring of the straw stuffed target. After every few shots he turned to glance up at the surly aged assassin who instructed the young ones in the uses of the short bow, long bow and crossbow. _

_The child was searching for any sign of approval from the instructor even though a part of him knew that it would never come… it wasn't the way of the Antivan Crows. So the child focused on his training sending more arrows into the target. As he always did he looked back up at his teacher who this time deemed to look town at him._

_The old assassin opened his mouth to speak but before he could he burst into flames. The fires licked up his body but he did or said nothing as he was reduced to a pile of ash. The child screamed as the Citadel, the great Fortress of Gilbran, the only home had ever had was engulfed in a tornado of flame. He wailed in terror as people he knew ran screaming in the distance their bodies set alight. _

"_This is only the beginning," a voice hissed from behind him._

_The child spun to see a figure in black armor standing behind him arms crossed over its chest. The child knew that he knew the knight from somewhere but couldn't place it. What he did know was that this figure was evil. _

"_All will burn beneath the shadow of my wings," it roared and its obsidian black helm split along the center revealing a double row of jagged fangs as a pair of shadowy bat-like wings extended from its back. The creature then leapt forward its talented hands poised for a deadly strike._

The man who for most of his life had gone by the name of Hector snapped his eyes open taking in large gulps of air as he did. The assassin, or perhaps former assassin would be more correct as the Crows as an organized force no longer existed, sat up straight in his bed. He took a moment to take in his surrounds before becoming aware of the ach in his leg.

He was in a fairly nice room which meant he doubted he was in prison or at least a proper prison. He wracked his memory trying to remember what had happened. He could recalling recusing Princess Anna of Antiva from the Queen of Fereldan's knights, getting bit by a hound and leading them on a merry chase. He remembered the ambush by the Kirkwallers which had saved their lives allowing them to cross the border from Antiva into city-state of Kirkwall. After that he must have passed out… but for how long.

"Ahh my friend you finally rise from the grave," an elderly man wearing the trappings of a nobleman said as he entered the room, "the healers told me you were stirring and I wanted to see you for myself."

Hector slowly assimilated the information his mind still foggy from sleep. Finally he said, "This is Kirkwall," he received a nod of conformation, "I need to see the Viscount it is very important."

The old man sighed and took a seat, "I am afraid that is something I cannot do… the Viscount you see has set out with the Homeguard to comfort Cecilia Theirin… I rule Kirkwall in his place. You can tell me what you wish to tell him and if deem it important I shall dispatch a rider."

Hector opened his mouth than closed it again remembering what he had been told about a traitor in Viscount Hawke's inner circle, "And what's your name milord?"

The man gave him a smile, "Halbren… Lord Marcus Halbren."

Had Hector been more alert he would have noticed the slight pause before the man introduced himself or the tenseness of his eyes, but he was still exhausted from recovery after a brush with death. So Hector started to tell the Lord "Halbren" everything that had happened… the mission to Denerim, his escape, Gilbran, Antiva City where he learned to the treachery of the Kirkwall Lord Threnhold and his rescue of the princesss who he inquired of and was relieved to learn was alright.

At the end of all of it he thought over the conversation he had had with the Grand Master of the Assassin back in Gilbran during the dragon attack, the things, the unbelievable things he had told him about Cecilia Theirin Queen of Ferelden bearing the soul of or being the Dragon God of War. It seemed as ludicrous now as it had then but something whispered that she should speak of it and so he did.

After what seemed like an age the old lord stood, "Thank you young man you are quite the survivor. Your tale sounds like something an epoch that great bards tell," his smile then slide from his face in a way that made Hector immediately wary, "a shame that life is very rarely like one of those great stories," he finished.

Hector glanced about the room, feeling the icy chill of understand seep into his soul. He was looking for any sign of a weapon that he could use in his defense, but anything of use had been carefully removed. "What do you mean?"

The old man didn't say anything as he stepped away towards the door. As he did a guardsmen entered with his sword drawn. The lord looked back at Hector before turn back to the guard, "I am sorry about this..., but tis far better than turning you over to Cecilia's tender mercies"

The former assassin and perhaps one of the last living Crows of Antivan did what no one in the room expected him to do… he laughed. He remembered his thoughts when he believed he was dying in the woods along the Kirkwall border; of how ironic it was that he was dying of a dog bite after everything he'd been through. Now he'd die an equally ignoble death at the hands of a snake of a man never evening known the true story of what had happened.

"You know she will not allow you to live Lord Threnhold," Hector said in one last futile attempt to make the man see reason.

With a mocking smile the Kirkwall lord said, "And why not? I am delivering the army of Kirkwall, the city itself and most importantly it's Viscount to her on a silver platter."

"It is simple you know too much."

Threnhold face flickered and for an instant showed the extent of the fear he truly feltbut just as quick it vanished and his face twisted into a sneer, "Kill him!"

The guardsmen drew his sword and Hector found his gaze drawn to the meter long piece of cold steel as the blade was driven into his gut. The assassin felt a white hot pain shoot through every inch of his being as the steel was removed and slammed into his stomach three more times.

Hector gurgled as he felt blood seep up from between his lips as he felt the darkness cloud his vision. He tried to say something but found that the blood in his lungs prevented that. The Antivian Crows had been a group well so used to death that it was often humorously told that they were close friends. Hector now found himself terrified by that supposed 'close friend.'

Ironically as his heart began to slow and his mind fogged from blood loss he found himself wishing for a priest to hear his confession. A fear wormed his way through his ruptured gut he wondered for the fate of immortal soul. And strangely about the fate of the young girl he nearly died protecting.

XXX

So it is here where the future of Kirkwall, Ferelden and maybe even the whole of the world would be decided the Viscount of Kirkwall mused as he stared back towards the barely visible outlines of his city behind him. To the front not five miles away was the Army of Ferelden and Cecilia Theirin the woman who ended the lives of his wife and son.

Forcing his anger down Hawke turned his attention back to the winding column of soldiers off in the distance as the made their camp. A glance at the sinking sun told him that the battle would not take place tonight , but tomorrow or in the coming days. With night rapidly approaching he doubted Cecilia would choose to begin now. The chance of confusion and accidents only increased in the dark of night and the possibility of fratricide rose rapidly. Still Hawke along with his captains at set a rotation that would have a third of his army on guard at a time just in case.

The Viscount of Kirkwall took one last defiant glance at the Ferelden army before turning back to his own encampments. He walked towards the small city of tents set just on the reverse slope of the hill seeing his soldiers preparing for the battle to come. When the battle began his men would hold the crest of the hill straddling the main highway forcing the Fereldens to take the gently sloping gradient if they meant to continue on to the city.

He considered like he had so many times before whether or not he stood have made his stand on the onyx walls of Kirkwall herself. Like before however he rejected that idea almost immediately. He didn't have the men or supplies necessary for a protracted siege and he doubted that once the hunger and plagues that inevitably accompany this type of warfare the city wouldn't rise against him.

No, he reasoned this was his choice. He had selected the field on which this war would be fought tailoring it to his strengths. The field was narrow enough to prevent Cecilia from using her cavalry to out get around his flank and roll it up. From his position he could rain death down upon the Queen's army as the marched up the hill to take him.

As he walked through the camp he stopped to share words with a few of his soldiers as they sat sharing their evening meal. They were startled to see him, their liege lord, talking to common soldiers. He took time to ask after them and their families and even took the time to lose some money in a game of dice.

When a sudden commotion erupted from the front of his camp Hawke stood his hand reached up to touch the handle of his greatsword which was slung across his back. Moving at a swift trot the Viscount made his way through the camp which was rapidly being put on war footing as the sergeants and junior officers rallied their men. Each step he took seemed to punctuate the sense of dread growing in his gut. What if he had been wrong and Cecilia decided to launch a night attack?

When Hawke reached the front lines he saw that his fears unfounded. A small group of mounted armored knights surrounded another older man in far more elegant armor. The small band of men was together waiting a distance from his lines.

The lead knights bore a blue standard on which was emblazoned the golden laurel of the Couslands of Highever. So that made the man in the center Teyrn Fergus Cousland, the Queen's maternal uncle the second most powerful man in Ferelden. Selecting about a dozen men Hawke stepped through the wall of armored men and closed the distance between him and the envoy.

"Teyrn Cousland I would be called a lair if I said it was pleasing to see you," Hawke said releasing his sword.

The man on horseback looked dismissively down upon him and said, "And who pray-tell are you?"

"I am the Viscount of Kirkwall my lord Teyrn. I assume I am the one you are looking for," Hawke sounded staring the older man square in the eyes.

The Teyrn of Highever did not disappoint. He merely raised an eyebrow but his eyes held the same dismissive glint as before. Hawke bristled at the look. On a level it reminded of the looks the noblemen in Lothering had given him when he had been a simple commoner the Bann's service and the looks of those who though themselves his better when he had been a penniless refuge fleeing the blight.

It was a look all those noble born seemed to innately possess. It was look that said that by the right of my breeding and the Will of the Maker, I am better than you. That you are nothing to me, less valuable than the horse I ride and barely more noticeable than the mud on his boots. It was a look he had grown to hate and one that after ascending to the throne of Kirkwall he swore he'd never wear.

Here he was looking at a man, Hawke realized, that could be the epitome of everything he hated about the nobility. The Teyrn of Highever could trace his lineage back to the days when Ferelden was petty collection of warring Teyrns and Arls. For millennia his family had been second to only royalty and some their members had even sat upon the throne. Now he was the most powerful man in Ferelden second to only his niece.

"Speak," Hawke ordered.

The Teyrn's brow furrowed, "Are we to discuss the affairs of kingdoms and the fate of great cities amongst the commoners like merchants discussing the price of grain in market. What I have to discuss to not for the ears of… such men as these," the Cousland gave a pitying look to the Viscount's men, "Shall we retire somewhere quiet to discuss the Queen's terms."

Hawke gritted his teeth at the man's presumptuous words and his men bristled at his implied insults that they were baseborn curs. "Teyrn Cousland you can speak here in front of my men before running back to the bitch you call a Queen."

The moment the words left his lips the Highever knights cried shame and shouted vile cursed back at Hawke for his defamation of their Queen who by the Maker's Divine Right sat upon the throne of a Andrastian Kingdom. Their blades were halfway out of their sheaths when the Teyrn's hand shot up and he hissed in a throaty voice, "Hold!"

The knight's glowered at him from beneath their helms but did as their master commanded and re-sheathed their blades as they became aware that not only had Hawke's impromptu honor guard drawn their weapons but the wall of soldiers beyond him were standing uneasy with blades held ready. Slowly the knights let go of their weapons to grasp the reigns of their horse with both hands. Though it was it was not yet over as the knight stared at him with murderous intent still clear in their eyes.

The Teyrn's look was more controlled but Hawke saw wrath burning in his grey clouded eyes. Returning his hand to the pommel of his saddle he growled, "Mind your tongue boy," the elder nobleman growled in a low tone causing Hawke to remember the stories surround what this Cousland had down to the late Howes of Amaranthine, "I bring terms to discuss between two men of rank," the Teyrn's tone chilled noticeably, "remember I am a Teyrn and due the respect and courtesy my rank demands. Do not demean your honor and the honor of your city by disgracing your title… Viscount."

Hawke's cheek's flushed red. It had been a long time since anyone had called him 'boy' and even longer than anyone dared scold him. But as much as he hated to admit it the bastard Teyrn was right. In himself was reflected the honor of his city and no matter how grief it brought him he was expected to act every bit the nobleman he was expected to be. And it was expected that one nobleman treat his peers with curtsey and respect.

Still he had his pride, "Speak your terms here and now or return to your mistress and be done with it."

"So be it," Fergus Cousland said his voice still icy. Taking a breath the pair locked gazes and the Teyrn of Highever began, "In return for peace between our lands my Queen demands you return with your army to your city, surrender your captive the Princess Anna of Antiva and pay a tribute of a thousand pounds of gold to the Ferelden Treasury per year."

A muscle in Hawke's cheek twitched violently before he asked incredulously, "Is that all?"

"No," the Cousland answered a smile twitching at the right corner of his lips, "Lastly my Queen demands you do her homage for yourself and Kirkwall so that your city will pass under the control of the Kingdom of Greater Ferelden. You will of course be allowed to remain in governance of your city provided you accept these terms and honor the duties of a vassal to their liege lord," the Teyrn's voice hardened once more, "refuse these terms and witness the destruction of yourself, your army and your city… these are the words of my Queen Cecilia Theirin."

It took Hawke a fraction of a second to decide is answer. Making a display of it he unstrapped the gauntlet fitted onto his right hand and then lifted it high above his head in a symbolic gesture. The turning back to Teyrn Cousland he threw the gauntlet so that it landed at the hooves of the high nobleman's mount.

"You have your answer Teyrn of Highever," Hawke said the calmness in his voice a sharp contrast to the rapid tattoo of his heart.

Under his breath the Teyrn issued and order and one of his knights slid off the back of his horse. Hawke's honor guard tensed but the knight made no move to draw his weapon. The man merely bent down to retrieve the gauntlet and handed to his lord. The high nobleman waited for his man to remount before wordlessly turning and riding back toward the Ferelden encampment.

Hawke glanced down at his bare hand, flexing it in the evening chill. He was aware of what he had done and now there were only two outcomes, victory or death. Clenching his hand into a fist he said quietly under his breath, "Alea iacta est."

The Die is Cast.

XXX

He didn't like waiting. He knew that it was necessary, even profitable, but that didn't mean he had to like it. Two nights ago the ship his company had sailed on had entered the harbor of Kirkwall passing through the towering monoliths that flanked the harbor's entrance and under the foreboding gazes of the defaced Old Gods of Ancient Tevinter. Now the final stages of the most important phase of his Queen's plans were spinning into motion.

It was a chance to right old failures and propel himself to a position of preeminence in his mistress's eyes perhaps even to the position he coveted so dearly. After all Tiberius was getting older and most certainly reaching the end of his years in the field. Once that happened Cecilia would need a new steel fist to carry out her will.

"They are here," one of his men said pointing in the direction of the shore where a small group of four hooded figures where approaching the gangplank.

Even from this distance Raymond's eyes could make out that one of the figures was a child. When they stepped onto the deck two of his men-at-arms slipped silently between them and the plank. The lead robed figure came to stand before Raymond and slid back his hood revealing and aged wrinkled face.

"Lord Threnhold I presume," Ser Raymond a knight of the Sovereign's Order said glancing from him to the child and then to the two men who were obviously bodyguards, no doubt from the Kirkwall Lord's retinue of private thugs.

"I am," Lord Threnhold said with a nodded, "And this is your young passenger, Anna Castlen Princess of Antiva."

"Ser knight," the princess said with a gentle curtsey and Raymond inclined his head in return. "You still have yet to say where they will be taking me milord?"

"I have told you all that matters you will be safe until the day you can assume your father's throne," Threnhold said.

As they had been speaking a dozen more men-at arms emerged from the cog's hold and onto the deck and unlike those on deck they wore their dragon surcoats proudly. When the Princess saw them she gasped and turned to Threnhold and screamed, "Traitor… you Maferath-"

Before she could say more Ser Robert, the man ironically who had killed her infant brother lunged for and clamped his hand over her mouth silencing her.

"Do not harm her," Raymond hissed before signaling two men-at-arms and the trading cog's captain, "Take her to your quarters and place her under guard. I want this ship gone as soon as the tide permits. If anything untoward happens to her," he warned unnecessarily, "You will face Cecilia's wrath."

Once the young royal had been drug off Lord Threnhold sighed, "I wish things had been different, but Hawke left me no choice in the matter," then visibly drawing himself up he focused on Raymond, "Tell your Queen that I will honor the terms of our arrangement. Now if you have no objects I must take my leave for I have much work to do."

As the Lord turned to leave Raymond reached out and grabbed his shoulder in a firm grip. Threnhold spun as his mouth opened but Raymond cut him off, "I am afraid my men and I cannot leave just yet. My Queen has concerns for the safety of her newest vassal."

"I will be quite fine," Threnhold started trying to slip from the knight's grasp but he held on tight.

"Have you ever been in a city under siege," Raymond started but gave the lord no chance to retort, "things can be quite dangerous and once Hawke's army is laid low you will be left with few men to police this great city. And so my Queen as ordered me to assist you in the transfer of power and protect your person… after all she would be remiss as a liege lord to allow her newest vassal to fall prey to the savages of a city in uproar."

By this point all blood had drained from Threnhold's face and Raymond was forced to suppress a chuckle. All the lord's schemes and treacheries had been for not. Though he would realize his dream of regaining his father's throne he would never be trusted with any real power… like with Ostwick. He would sit in the chair and throw grand feasts and celebrations but he would always have his shadows everywhere he went. Like in the Tevinter fable of the sword of Damocles he would live with a blade hanging over his head for the rest of his life; however short that may turn out to be.

"Very well," Threnhold eventually said weary and defeated, "Hawke stripped most of the guard for his so I have been making do with his my own hirelings. We should be able to enter the palace unnoticed as long as we move tonight under the cover of darkness."

"Very good milord," Ser Raymond said concealing the contempt he felt for the scheming lord, "we need to secure the keep as soon as we can. Once there, "I need you assemble Kirkwall's nobility on the marrow… there are things we must discuss."

XXX

Cecilia's command tent was a spacious affair. The Queen's lavish red-gold structure was a towering twelve meters at its height. From it central supports flew the Queen's black pennant emblazoned with her crimson dragon. From the lesser supports flew the banners of Couslands of Highever, the Chesters of West Hills, the banner of the Orlesian Imperial Guard, the _de Gendarmerie de l'Impératrice _of the Orlesian Empire and the colors the Banns who marched with the army.

Beneath the great tent and seated around a large rectangular wooden table were Cecilia Theirin and her assembled noblemen. In the center of said table sat the reflective steel gauntlet of the Viscount of Kirkwall the symbol his challenge of her and her Kingdom. It had been a vainglorious move from a prideful man convince of his own self-righteousness.

Cecilia was not at all surprised by the Viscount's actions… in fact she had done everything she could to provoke him to meeting her on the field where she could deal with him and his 'army.' Despite the fact that Hawke was no great threat to her the last thing she wanted was him scurrying around the North raising insurrection. So Hawke and his army would die.

And Kirkwall Cecilia mused over the fate of the ancient city. Certainty it would be another jewel to add to her crown and its fall would sent shockwaves through the rest of the Free Marches and Neverra. Even Tevinter would take notice of the loss of their ancient outpos.

"My Queen," Ser Markus Tiberius said pulling her from her thoughts, "What are your plans dealing with this arrogant bastard."

"We crush him," Cecilia said deadpan as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. Her bluntness garnered brief chuckles from her present company and even the stoic Tiberius cracked a smile. She caught their eyes before proceeding, "We crush them and then take Kirkwall and this is how."

Reaching out swept the gauntlet to the side allowing it to fall to the grass that made up the floor of her tent with a seemingly subdued thump for all that it represented. Beneath the gauntlet was a map… a rough sketch of the battlefield-to-be on which sat ornamental pieces representing both the Ferelden army and their opponent.

Hawke's army held the high ground and with it held the tempo of the battle to come. The Viscount merely had to keep her from advancing on his city and he had both the resources of said city to drawn upon and the time to wait her out as her own supplies dwindled. His plan meant that Cecilia and her men had to do all the work… or so he thought.

The Viscount was operating under the assumption that she was here for the princess. She was, but more important things concerned her now. Other than being a pain in her ass, Hawke and Threnhold where the only two people left that knew anything about the truth of assignation attempt those many months ago. They were the only two loose ends left… the ones in Antiva and Ferelden had long since been dealt with.

Besides the princess situation should already be dealt with by her reckoning of Raymond of St Giles and his men. Her own scouts as sighted them three days ago sailing along the coast and by now they were sure to be already in the city. As she saw it all the pieces were in place and once more the Viscount of Kirkwall had danced masterfully to her tune.

So what if he has the high ground, the Queen of Ferelden mused, I can batter him off easily enough. She thought before she reconsidered the problem at hand. No, the shield wall his men would form would be difficult to breach head on and the terrain prevented her from launching any flanking attacks with her horsemen. So Hawke, Cecilia decided, would have to come off the hill, but what would make him do something so foolish?

It didn't take her long to decide upon a plan and to disseminate the information to her lords and vassals. Her plan was fairly simple, but then those were often the best kind. Her favorite strategy was an example of one. Called the hammer and the anvil it was simple but absolutely deadly tactic when preformed properly.

Unlike the Orlesians who used their cavalry as a great hammer to bludgeon their enemy into submission and their infantry mop up after them, Cecilia use her footmen to pin an enemy in position while breaking their wings with her horse before wheeling and taking them in the rear or rolling up their flanks. In essence her horsemen were the hammer and her footmen where the anvil on which she'd break her foe.

XXX

Last year he would never have thought Fereldans were capable of it. To take an army across the Waking Sea in a fashion reminiscent of prophet herself and conquer the Kingdom of Antiva and their infamous Crows who dealt death of ill-repute throughout all the lands of Thedas. It was the accomplishment of the age. Yet she was still not done. Before the week was done even mighty Kirkwall would fall.

And then how far might her star still have left to rise, Charles of Orlais, mused about the woman he would soon marry. The Prince smiled tightly; if he had her figured anywhere near right he knew she would never stop. Like the great Tacitus Tevin, the great conqueror who founded what had become the Tevinter Imperium, Cecilia a burning desire for conquest that Charles wasn't sure she even understood.

A small silver of his soul envied her. For like all sons of houses and dynasties he dreamed to burn his name into the pages of history. And like most second sons and even most firstborns he would fail. While he had won some small victories against Neverra on the northern border in endless border disputes, but nothing of great note. He would pass into obscurity forgotten in an age of heroes. But still, the greater part of him was proud of her deeds.

As Charles walked through the camp he was struck by something he had noticed before but not given much thought. The camps were laid out in an organized manner, almost everything was in the exactly the same place as it had been last night, the night before and so on. The fact that she also insisted on erecting palisade every night made him frown. It wasn't something that Fereldans did with any regularity; he knew Orlesians and Neverrans didn't do it. In fact the only ones he knew that put so much effort into making camps they'd only tear down the next day was the Imperium.

He wondered what it meant and made a mental note to ask Cecilia about it. Putting that aside as he reached the section of the encampment set aside for the men of the _de Gendarmerie de l'Impératrice _and found his second the Chevalier Ser Renly feastin on a roast pheasant. Once more the Prince of Orlais frowned missing the advice and comradeship of his former second the Baron Caron De Delacroix, he who had been his friend for many years.

The Baron had returned to Val Royeauex along with most of the Prince's company of the _de Gendarmerie de l'Impératrice _leaving behind only a small honor guard for his security until he and Cecilia Theirin were formally married. At that time they would, most likely, be dismissed to return back to Orlais and rejoin the Royal Guard. For to remain in Ferelden would require oaths of fealty to Cecilia; oaths that they could not grant because of previous ones given to his mother, the Empress of Orlais. For no man could hold two sovereign lords master and what sovereign would trust the sworn swords of another in their presence.

"My Prince," the Orlesian Chevalier said rising to his feet but Charles waved him to sit.

The Prince of Orlais took a seat next to the man as they warmed themselves by the fire. As the sun set a chill from the Waking Sea swept in chilling the coastline causing members of both armies to huddle near the small campfires they had built.

"To the victory on the morrow my prince," the Chevalier toasted raising his boot flask and downing a nip of its contents before holding it out in offering.

It was an offering Charles gratefully accepted as he took his own nip of the Ferelden whiskey. The liquid scorched a terrible streak down his throat before finally settling like a pool of fire in his stomach. As Charles handed the flask back he found his mind drifting.

What Cecilia had accomplished in this past year had been remarkable. Under her tenure of the throne Ferelden had more than doubled its size and Cecilia showed little hints of slowing down now. As he thought about it his thoughts turned back to his own homeland, the Empire of Orlais. Unlike Cecilia's Ferelden, Orlais, with a few exceptions, had been in slow steady decline since the death of the Emperor Drakon.

It had been nearly millennia since Kordillus Drakon transformed a weak and fragile collection of squabbling baronies into a powerful empire rivaling the ancient Tevinter Imperium. All the lands from the very gates of Minrathous to the wild untamed lands of Fereldan had answered to the Emperor, but it had not lasted. Ironically it had been the Fereldens, or at least their less civilized ancestors, that had brought Drakon's dream to an end.

While the Emperor had fought to conquer Tevinter his son had ventured with his army into the heart of what would later become the Kingdom of Ferelden. The Orlesian prince had probed deep into the still barbarous land intent on proving his valor by bringing that land into the empire. Instead he got himself and his army slaughtered near modern day Redcliffe. The news of his beloved son's death had broken the Kordillus Drakon causing him to give up his siege of the Tevinter capital Minrathous.

The founder of the Empire of Orlais had died soon after that leaving his throne to his bastard son by one of his mistresses. The empire itself had never recovered, steadily losing territory to both civil wars and external ones before finally stabilizing to its more or less current boundaries. There had been a few exceptions but those few gains had rarely lasted or countered what had been lost.

What made Charles the angriest was not the reversals themselves but the reason for the reversals. It was the game, the Great Game of Thrones as it was more formally known. The game pitted all the nobles in Orlais against each other from the lowest Baron to the Royal Dukes they warred against one another. This however was not a war of swords, but a war of conniving smiles, assassinations of both the physical body and their character.

The constant infighting and plays for power served to only weaken his country and provide opportunities to turn them against each other. In this he found himself envying the unity Cecilia's countrymen possessed. It was again ironic that the relatively young nation of Ferelden was a more unified one than an empire many centuries its senior.

Charles was also smart enough to realize that the decline of Orlais was another partial reason for his marriage to Cecilia. His mother hoped that by tying their house to Cecilia's rising star it would reverse the empire's falling fortunes. Leadership would also be needed to restore Orlais to a position of preeminence.

Empress Celene I of Orlais daughter of Philippe the Fair, Grand Duke of Kast, niece to the departed Emperor Florian , mother to the Princes Phillip and Charles had held the painted throne of Val Royeauex for nearly four decades. She was cunning in a way both her sons were not. She had the political skill and insight to not only come out ahead in the game, but to keep the fractured Orlesian nobility from tearing each other apart.

Under her suzerainty the empire had largely stabilized around her core provinces. While the border skirmishes remained and her uncle's loss of the Ferelden Province before her ascent to the throne still sat sorely on the empire's pride for the most part all was peaceful. Charles hissed, peace did not make great empires.

For all her brilliance in political matters the Empress had had no mind for military ones. His brother was similar, except that lack even a fifth of the political talents of their mother. When he assumed the Imperial throne, Charles shook his head. He feared what would happen when that day came to pass. He loved his elder brother, but…

That would keep to another day and he needed his rest. There was a battle to come and a city-state to destroy. In a way he was pleased it would be Kirkwall. At the end of the last Exalted March the city of Kirkwall had fallen under the rule of Orlais and then promptly revolted a decade and a half later. Orlais had tried and failed to retake the ancient city many times. He'd take of bit of pleasure in taking vengeance, delayed as it was, for the defeat of his kinsmen all those years ago.

XXX

"Who in the fade are you," the young guardsmen asked raising a torch before the richly robed figure of Lord Alexhander Threnhold appeared in the gloom.

Ser Raymond of Giles watched them snap to attention before the Kirkwall nobleman who was by all accounts the Viscount's right hand man. The Knight of the Sovereign's Order watched from the lord's side along with two dozen other knights and men-at-arms. The rest of the hundred odd men of his company were even now securing the guard barracks in a typically brutal fashion.

With the bulk of the Kirkwall Guard out on the field the handful left in the city were badly inexperienced youths or old men too aged to stand up to the rigors of sustained combat. Those who remained would not be challenge for Raymond's band of warriors. Slowly, his movement hidden by the body of Lord Threnhold, Raymond closed his hand around the hilt of his sword.

"Milord," the older guardsman said carefully eyeing Raymond and his men, "Is the Steward expecting you?"

As they spoke Raymond searched carefully with his eyes for any other guards. Besides the four men on gate sentry he saw no others. He saw none other than the for the four men standing guard at the Keep's iron gate. As Threnhold shot back that he didn't need to be expected to enter the Viscount's Keep Raymond took another few seconds to scan the battlements.

Finally deciding that these four were it Raymond drew his sword. At the signal the rest of his warriors drew their own weapons and fell on the guardsmen. Raymond himself had already had his weapon buried in the guts of the elder guardsman before Threnhold could react.

"What in the Maker's name are you doing," the lord screeched his eye wide in horror.

Raymond of Giles ignored the man's shout as he withdrew his blade letting the guardsmen fall with a sickly thump to the ground. Taking the edge of his surcoat he wiped the blade clean before turning to face the Kirkwall noble. The knight offered a slight smile even knowing it was hidden beneath his helm, "Again my lord I am just following my orders."

Threnhold just stared at him with hard eyes and a clenched jaw. Raymond considered himself an astute man and if he had to guess from the expression on the nobleman's face and eyes he'd say that the man was realizing just how much his deal with Cecilia was going to cost him. Eventually a resigned look of defeat entered Alexander Threnhold's eyes and he nodded slowly.

Without hesitation his warband streamed into the Viscount's Keep with weapons drawn and held ready to use. At this late at night the Keep was largely empty save the handful of domestic servants cleaning the interior in preparation for the next day. The sight of so many armed men sent a visible ripple of fear through the servants for unlike the guardsmen in the black of the night whose night vision had been greatly reduced from the torch light, these men and women could clearly see the sable dragon emblazoned on their surcoats.

Raymond didn't know if these peasants recognized what the heraldry meant except that the livery didn't match those of the men they normally saw around the keep. He turned to his second, "Robert take the men and secure the keep… kill anyone who resists."

At his command the black armored knights and men-at-arms surged forwards their swords drawn ignoring the terrified screams of the servants. One rather foolish man tried to get between a knight and his destination and was rewarded with three feet of steel through his gut.

Resting his hand on Threnhold shoulder Raymond turned to him, "Welcome home my lord."

XXX

It was said that a rising red sun marked the day as a bloody one. In elder days when his people were still barbaric clans they had been obsessed with omens and signs of fortune. In every movement of the Maker's Eye, a change of the wind, the flight of a bird they had seen the whispers of fortune and fate.

Tiberius and his countrymen had grown beyond such fancies, but whenever he looked up into that crimson sky he couldn't help but feel it was going to be an interesting day. Dressed in his black burnished armor, with his horned great helm tucked underneath his arm, he stood atop the palisade gatehouse of the Queen's camp watching with pride as the army drew up for battle.

The General had been fighting in one form or another since he was thirteen years old and had been training longer than that. To see this army of his countrymen lined up and prepared for battle knowing that the whole of the world was watching and trembling at their might filled him with a pride close to bursting.

He watched as the men-at-arms of the Sovereign's Order formed up into their companies, their mail and helms glittering in the early morning sun while the banners flying from the spears of their sergeants fluttered in the morning breeze. The Order formed center of their battle order with the men of Highever and West Hills on the flanks.

Behind them the Queen's Elven Auxiliaries gathered into their own troop. Tiberius grinned wolfishly; it was something that he would have never thought of. Finding quality bowman had proved a problem in the past. No respecting nobleman or freeholder would join as a bowmen; archery being a less honorable pursuit than mastery of the sword.

Ironically the best archers were the mercenary companies of the upper Free March cities like Starkhaven and Tantervale. However by recruiting among the Dalish, as natural archers as fish are swimmers, she solved that particular problem in a unique way. And after all the Dalish were well known for their sense of loyalty once they had pledged their allegiance.

The knights were still mustering on the field mounting their horse, selecting their lances and preparing for the battle to come. They were the great armored fist of this army and they knew that most battles since the invention of the stirrup had been decided by them. He remembered the feeling of that glorious charge. There was nothing in the world quite like it.

"Tiberius," a voice called him from his thought.

"My queen," the general answered nodding his head respectfully.

The Queen of Ferelden threw a look down at the assembling army before turning her ice blue eyes on him, "I have one more task for you general, before this battle begins."

"Name it majesty," he said earnestly.

She smiled a cold cruel smile that sent a shiver of dread down his spine. It was a smile that usually resulted in several dead bodies, "I want you to personally deliver my terms to Hawke… one last time."

Tiberius's eyes narrowed, "I do not understand," and that was the truth. He'd know Cecilia ever since she was a small child and she had never been one to forgive a slight, either large or small, "He has already refused you once. He had challenged you! How can you speak of peace?"

"When the dust has settled and Garret Hawke and his army lie dead I want all of Thedas to know that I offered Kirkwall a chance at peace," she responded throwing a glance at her assembling army, "I want no one to dispute my claim to his city or what is left of it when the sun sets this day."

The general nodded as understanding came to him, "When Hawke refuses he will be the one to seem unreasonable," he paused thinking it over in his mind before continuing, "he will not accept you terms?"

The Queen's smile returned, "Of course he will not… and after he refuses we are going to kill them all."

It was Tiberius's turn to smile though it was quickly covered as he slid his great helm over his head, "I will depart immediately."

And depart he did. After rounding up four knights from the Order's inner cadre he retrieved one of the Queen's dragon banners and rode briskly out of the encampment. As he rode his pride in his men grew as he saw them lined up for battle. They were ready and eager for a fight he could see it in their faces and stances.

His small band of knights took the better part of an hour to cross the five or so miles from the Queen's fortified camp. A look behind him showed that the army was on the march, no doubt moving into position for when his offer of peace was rejected.

Hawke's arrogance astounded him. Tiberius didn't know if the Viscount thought he could actually win or if this was supposed to be some grand gesture of defiance He didn't really care. As far as he was concerned this day had been inevitable since Hawke refused Cecilia's offer that day almost three years ago. Hawke could have brought Kirkwall peacefully into the Ferelden sphere of influence but he had allowed his pride to get the better of him. And now he and his city would pay the ultimate price for its ruler's hubris.

Glancing up he saw the Kirkwall army arrange at the top of the gentle hill their own weapons glittering in the morning light. Getting his first look at his foe he shook his head in disappointment. He saw too many young and frightened faces out their looking down on him. Unblooded children, he thought, no match for his veterans despite the favorable position they held. Even though they held the high ground he had no doubt that when the sun set his countrymen would stand victorious.

"Hold there," a man in fine armor called out to him.

"Viscount Hawke a pleasure to see you again," it was a lie that was plain to both men but as much a Tiberius hated it there was decorum to follow. As the Queen's designated representative it was especially important for him to follow the code of knightly chivalry. Clearing his throat Tiberius continued, "I come as an envoy of peace from my Queen, your rightful liege lord who asks your reconsider her most generous terms."

"I cannot do this general," Hawke called from the front rank of his warriors, "This has gone too far for things to be settled so simply!"

"So be it then," Tiberius said from atop his horse. The general hadn't expected the little bastard to change his mind, but again the offer had to be made. Taking a deep breath to fill his lungs Tiberius bellowed, "Then let your death and the death of men be upon your head Viscount Hawke."

With that Ser Markus Tiberius Knight of the Sovereign's Order and General of the Army of Ferelden pulled tight on the reigns of his charcoal colored steed and pointed it down the hill where the Queen's army was assembling into battle formations.

XXX

With a grim expression Hawke watched as Tiberius and his entourage rode back down the gentle rolling slope. He saw the five horsemen disappeared through the neatly ordered ranks of men-at-arms and felt the worm of worry gnaw its way into his stomach. This was his first look at the Ferelden army and it appeared that it was more formidable than he first thought. And this was not even a quarter of the full strength she had mustered for the war with Antiva.

But whatever feelings he had he pushed them down. His men needed him to be strong, to show no fear and be a source of courage for those whose own was waning. Hawke held his great sword loosely in his fingertips, the heft of the blade felt reassuring in these troubling times.

"Make ready lads," Hawke called as he walked up and down the shield line doling out reassurance to the younger men and remarks of confidence to the older.

Yes, Hawke thought, the battle would be bloody, but he had faith in the strength and valor of his men. They were fighting for their future, their homes and their country's very survival. Still he mused; he wished he had had more time to train. He glanced right and left taking in the gleaming steel of the shield wall that he had formed his men into.

A shield wall was a solid, if a somewhat immobile formation. It would take more than a determined foe to breach and even more so given the favorable position he held. Still given his lack of horse he'd of rather had a phalanx, but that took more training and discipline than his men possessed. He also lacked the personal experience necessary to train them in such and more importantly the _hoplomachos _or sergeants they'd be called in Orlesian, Ferelden or Neverran armies.

With little warning a small series of horn blasts sounded from the Ferelden army. Quickly Hawke turned to look down the slope half expecting to Ferelden knights charging up the hill. Instead he saw people, skirmishers, he thought moving out in front of the main body. He watched carefully as they maneuvered waiting for them to cross the set of painted stones he'd painstakingly marked out as the limit of his crossbowmen's range.

"Archers… positions," Hawke bellowed and the command was repeated up and down the lines.

From the relative safety behind the shield emerged two lines of crossbowmen equipped with large shields called a pavise on their back. The shield was designed to protect them from counter fire when they stopped to reload their crossbows.

Raising his sword high over his head, Hawke waited for the enemy bowmen to advance. Too his surprise they stopped just outside the killzone. The Viscount frowned as he took in the smallish figures standing at the base of the slope. He watched them withdrawn what he had to assumed were arrows from their quivers.

The elves, for that was what they had to be, drew taught their bows and fired high into the air. Hawke like the rest of the army watched fully convinced that they were far out of rage. After all the crossbows they themselves carried were unable to reach their foes at such distance. He was convinced up until the point the arrows began to fall amongst them.

"Cover," the Viscount shouted just as surprised as the man next to him as arrow pierced the neck of the guardsmen. Without wasting any time Hawke scooped up the fallen man's shield and crouched low so it would cover both of them. All around the screams of wounded and pained men cried out as arrows found their unlucky marks.

Hawke cursed himself as the arrows continued to fall most hitting the ground but a few impacted hard on his shield, the tips piercing the steel shell and burying itself into the wood reinforced back plate. In front of him he heard the distinctive 'twang' of crossbows as his men fired futility. From what he saw they all fell short.

Cursing venomously Hawke attempted to move his crossbowmen down into better firing positions but the two times he tried he was driven off by Ferelden light cavalry. After those two attempts and ten or so men dead Hawke abandoned any chance of venturing out again for the simple reason he doubted he could persuade them to have another go at it.

The Viscount of Kirkwall was still trying to decide what his next move was when another swarm of arrows fell. The bodkin tipped arrows killed one or two people per volley though it wounded far more and had a devastating effect on morale. He was still thinking about what his next move was when a horned blew a deep resonating tone across the field.

XXX

From his position on the right flank with the Teyrn of Highever'sknights which had been situated behind the main body of footmen Prince Charles watched Cecilia's elven auxiliaries rain death down upon the men of Kirkwall with their oversized longbows. The bows these elves used were almost comical. They were larger than the elves themselves and with a flat portion near the bottom for them to step on to anchor the massive long bow. It had indeed seemed comical until the Orelsian had seen them outrange the Kirkwall crossbows.

When the horn blew bellowing its next command to the Ferelden army Charles tensed in his seat as the command of 'march' was echoed up and down the line. In almost perfect unison the nearly five thousand men-at-arms stepped off; the chain of their armor clanking and the tips of their spears glistening in the early morn.

Under the cover of archery fire the men-at-arms advanced until they reached the base of the slope below the Kirkwall army. Once they did they broke trot rushing up the hill while still maintaining their formations. Only once they neared their foe did a savage war cry tear from their lips and they slammed into the Kirkwall Homeguard with a brutal ferocity.

It was a different strategy than he would have chosen if command of this army. But Cecilia had been right so far and her judgments had been sound. Still he didn't like using his infantry this way. To be honest he didn't trust them, the lowborn rankers who filled up the bottom of the Thedosian armies, to carry the day. In part this was a product of his Orlesian mindset, but it was also in part due to the knowledge that the mounted heavy horseman was the ultimate expression of power and military prowess on the battlefield.

"I do not believe they will take the hill," Charles said to the Teyrn of Highever his own eyes not moving from the scene of battle. From his experienced eye it looked like Kirkwallers were holding its own despite everything thrown at them. Then again the men-at-arms had not been expected to break the lines.

The Teyrn's face was hidden beneath helm, but the manner in which he tilted his head indicated he agreed, "Their sitting on one hell of a good defensive position. We need to get them off it to secure our victory."

Charles nodded as he flipped down the visor on his basinet helm moments before another series of horn blasts sounded. Under his breath the Prince of Orlais chuckled. He was becoming used to the Ferelden system of auditory orders. The armies of Orlais had chosen to use flags and banners to relay their commands in a system dating back to the armies of the Emperor Drakon when they tore their way across the continent.

This particular command as he understood it meant 'ordered withdrawal.' He watched as the men-at-arms broke contact with the Kirkwall Home Guard and began to retreat back down the slope dragging and carrying their wounded as they went. Again he felt his lip twitch rethinking his earlier thoughts about the 'lesser' men and their place on the battlefield. To accomplish such a maneuver required a discipline he doubted his own men back in Orlais possessed.

He watched the Kirkwall lines carefully waiting to see if they would take first bait thrown to them. To his surprise they didn't and in a way he was glad that he and the nobility, the gentry, would be the ones to finish the fight. He was also slightly concerned that the next step in the plan would put Cecilia directly in harm's way.

XXX

A great cheer rose from the ranks of his men as the Ferelden men-at-arms retreated down the slope carrying their wounded as they did. Hawke tried to rally his crossbowmen to harass the retreating warriors but when he did a flight of Dalish arrows drove them back with several casualties. Hawke himself even had an arrow deflect off his flank for his effort.

When he reached his own lines once more he took an inventory of his own men then looked down at the Ferelden army. He felt his stomach twisted in concern as he watched the men-at-arms reform and even more worrying he saw the Ferelden heavy cavalry move into position.

This was what he had feared most. The infantry he had held, the horse… the knights were a different matter entirely. Withstanding their charge would be an order of magnitude greater. For millennia they'd been the champions on the field of battle and for good reason. The weight behind their momentum could easily crush men to death.

Hawke sighed heavily, his sword arm already aching from earlier events. His line had held against Cecilia's soldiers, but that had taken a toll on his smaller army. He watched as orderlies drug the dead to be placed in neat rows for burial while the wounded were taken back the camp for the surgeons and healers to contend with.

When the Viscount heard the horn blast he didn't know what it meant per say as they series of signals had been developed long after he had come to Kirkwall and left the service of his Baan and the Crown of Calenhad. Still it didn't take a prophet to deduce what would happen next. Rushing forward to the front of the ranks he saw them coming. There was a line of men in obsidian black armor in the center and shinning silver on the flanks.

As they spurred their mounts to full gallop Hawke felt the ground beneath his feet rumble. Holding his sword tightly in his hand he yelled at the top of his lungs, "Hold!"

And hold they did even as the wall of horse, steel and men slammed into them. They held even as the front rank was crushed beneath the weight. They held even as their friends and comrades began to die under the lances and swords of the riders and the hooves and weight of the horses.

Hawke swore and threw his entire weight behind the man in front of him as they pushed back against the press of the horsemen. After what seemed like an eternity the pressure lessened. The charge had failed; his men had held. His guardsmen were even starting to strike back pulling several knights from their mounts and stabbing them to death.

This was it, he realized. The charge had floundered; the momentum on which it depended so heavily had bled away. Without it their advance was stalled and they became vulnerable. It was point emphasized as Hawke stabbed his broadsword up like a spear catching one of the Queen's Knights in the armpit and toppling him from his horse.

Then without warning the horsemen broke contact riding away from Kirkwaller line before wheeling back and charging again… and again this time with support from the footmen. For a total of three times the Fereldens smashed into his lines and it was only by the blood, sweat and tears of his warriors they'd been driven back. Even though they held Hawke knew that his men couldn't last forever.

Suddenly a figure caught the Viscount attention, a black figure in ornate armor slashing down taking the head clean off one of the guardsmen before reversing her stroke to cut another on the downward strike. It took him but a moment to discern who he was looking at, but only a moment. It had to be Cecilia, the Queen of Ferelden and the woman responsible for the death of his wife and son. Hawke glanced franticly about looking for something, anything to use.

Spotting a crossbowman he dashed over and snatched the weapon from the startled man and spun, pulling it into his shoulder at the same time. He cursed as another knight moved in front of the Queen. Hawke took a long to the side to clear his line of fire he aimed the bow. He whispered a prayer for the Maker to guide his hand and squeezed the firing lever.

The bolt left the crossbow propelled by the tension contained in the hemp and sinew string. The steel broad head missile sailed through the air like a black blur of death. Hawke watched as the world slowed. He watched the bolt shot closer and closer. He watched as the bolt collided with the Queen's helmeted head and he watched as she toppled from her mount.


	12. Chapter 11

**The Dragon Queen: Beginnings **

Chapter 11: Mate

This is what she was made for. This is what she loved. This was the essential essence of life, mortal and immortal… struggle, conflict, hardship and blood. Everything else was filler and truly meant nothing until tested against these. Every species, every race was defined by moments when they must put their lives, their morals and every souls on the line.

Cecilia had never felt more alive as she smashed her blade through the breastplate of some Kirkwall man-at-arms. And she was not the only one as her destrier, were massive warhorse, had broken more than a few bones and taken a few lives in a fail of hooves and by the strength of its body.

Today was the day Kirkwall and her Viscount Garret Hawke would die along with his army. The Viscount had taken a strong defensive position on top a gently rolling hill and dared her to come and get him. And she had done just that throwing her armies at the Kirkwall shield wall in a hail of steel and blood, battering her foes like the ocean grinding against the shore.

She watched as her horsemen, the crème de la crème of the Ferelden martial might; reaped a terrible tally amongst the Kirkwallers even though they failed to break the sturdy line. Were the knights struck the footmen followed close behind the horse as they turned to regroup for another charge. The maneuvering and precision to carry out such movements required a great deal of discipline; discipline that no army south of the legions of Tevinter was thought to possess.

The Queen was proud of the fighting force she and Tiberius had created. It had cost a fortune to train, equip and maintain, but in the end it was worth it. Having a permanent standing force loyal to her alone based in Denerim, but with companies spread out all over her kingdom had numerous advantages. The foremost being it allowed her more control of her nobles. Not that it matter much at the moment. Future control over them would mean little if she lost this battle today.

To her satisfaction the army of Kirkwall was nearing its breaking point… she could see it, she could sense it, she could taste it on the wind. The Queen twisted in her saddle to find her general before calling out, "Tiberius reform the-"

She was cut off midsentence as something hit her hard in the side of the helm. Had the bolt hit straight on that would have been the end of it right there and then. The plans of ancient gods would have been all for naught, coming undone at the hands of a mere mortal. But fate and fortune dictated the crossbow bolt had hit at an angle just above her right eye send the deadly missile spiraling off to land harmlessly in the damp morning grass.

The force however was still enough to topple her from her horse sending her crashing to the ground in a cascade of metal and pain. Cecilia hit the ground with enough force to break bones had she been a normal human female, but she was not. Still the impact hurt and forced the breath from her lungs stunning her for several long moments.

Cecilia lay there in the dirt and dust stunned as she felt the shadowing tendrils of unconsciousness grasp for purchase in her mind. Through the haze of pain and confusion and the chorus of voices Cecilia picked out one or more precisely one phrase that was rapidly grow louder and more frantic.

"The Queen is dead! The Queen is dead!"

The part of Cecilia that was still coherent after the fall recognized the danger in what she was hearing. If her army was convinced or even feared she was dead they would lose heart. As Cecilia had no heirs of her own body the question of whom the throne would fall to was in question.

By rights it should go to her uncle Teryn Cousland of Highever, but without a proper blood heir the throne would most likely fall too whomever could lay claim to the capital city of Denerim with a large enough army to hold it. It would be very possible than from her death a civil war could emerge amongst the claimants to the throne undoing everything she had accomplished in this past year.

"Majesty," a voice called through the fog that threatened to reclaim her mind, "Majesty, Cecilia speak to me child!"

"Tata," she hissed groggily as her vision swam before her eyes, "tata is that you?"

"I am not your father Cecilia," the voice said in a soft but steely tone, "It is I Markus… Markus Tiberius. Now you must rise before this feint turns into a rout."

The Queen felt her head move up as hands slipped around her helm and his was pulled from its resting place. Then she felt strong arms move around her shoulder as she was hoisted somewhat jerkily to her feet. Rolling her head to her left she saw Tiberius helping her stand as he guided her to where her horse was crouched low waiting for her to mount.

"Help me up… quickly," Cecilia snarled though her anger was not directed at Tiberius but at Hawke and his peasant army.

XXX

Hawke watched in near disbelief as the Queen of Ferelden toppled from her massive warhorse. His shot he had intended as nothing more than a futile act of defiance. Instead he say he may have just ended the war with a single lucky shot. He watched with stunned disbelief as the Ferelden horsemen began to turn indecisive and the indecisiveness quickly turned into a rout and their army began to waver.

From somewhere down the ranks he heard a man shout, "The bastards are running… After 'em!"

"No," Hawke shouted at the top of his lungs, "No… hold the line. Do not let them draw you off the hill!" Despite his commands a few men didn't heed his advice and began to break ranks charging down after the withdrawing Fereldens, "Stop them," he barked at a sergeant, "Find Captain Avelene!"

"Dead sir. Took an arrow in the throat she did," he paused, "sir we have them. If we attack now we can drive them all the way back to Antiva."

The Viscount turned on him with a snarl, "You fail to understand that they still have us outnumbered! If they stop turn on us we will be slaughtered out in the open!" Suddenly he was jolted from behind as another pair guardsmen jostled pass him with whooping war cries to join those pursing the Fereldens back down the slope, "Halt damn you halt!"

But they didn't heed him. Like those great ma-eating fish near the island of Seheron his men smelled blood in the water and they weren't going to let anything stand in the way of their victory. For them this victory would enrich them beyond their previous station. A ransom from a lord or knight could set them for the rest of their lives and an Arl or Teyrn's ransom would make them very, very wealthy men.

For those reason Hawke was forced to watch as more and more of his men broke ranks despite his commands and as he did he felt the fear in the pit of his stomach grow. What to do? Did he throw the weight of his army behind this foolhardy charge and pray to the Maker they didn't rally. If caught out in the open like this his army would be cut to pieces if the Fereldens turned.

Hell and damnation, Hawke swore and for the first time in his life he was unable to decide upon a course of action. He the Viscount and Champion of Kirkwall, the man who slew the Arishok in single combat and put down the Mage's Rebellion was at a loss for what to do.

"Milord," the chastised sergeant spat, "What are your orders?"

Even has he said Hawke knew that he had waited too long. Too many men had left their positions to chase the Fereldens and if they did turn back on him he no longer had the manpower to hold this position if attacked. As he opened his mouth to issue the order when he saw that he had indeed been too late in coming to his decision.

XXX

As a young squire Markus Tiberius fought with King Maric and the disgraced Loghain against the Orlesians who then occupied his country. He had been one of but a bare handful of men to escape the slaughter at Ostagar and had fought against king slaying bandit who fancied himself King of Ferelden in the short civil war that torn the country apart even as the Blight nipped at their heels. He had them thrown himself in the service of King Alistair and Queen Elissa once the Blight had ended; a service that had transferred to their daughter when she came of age.

Having no sons or daughter himself in his years as young Cecilia's teacher and later right hand and commander of her armies he had developed paternal feelings for her. He cared for her in a way her mother and father hadn't been able too. When he had saw her hit with that bolt he had felt his blood run ice cold.

Having helped her onto her horse Tiberius turned to her standard bearer and snatched the heraldic device from the startled knight. Holding it out he let her take it from him making sure she had it before releasing it himself.

Glancing up at her he saw the brow about her right eye was cutting and blood was dripping down her face. He watched her slowly wipe away the blood and look at it before fixing him with those enchanting icy blue eyes, "Fly the _Oriflamme_," she hissed in a voice that no longer sounded like her own, a voice filled with millennia of malice and hate.

Tiberius titled his head as if he was hearing a far off sound… the _Oriflamme_? The surprise he felt was quickly cast aside as he realized what this meant. The raising of the ancient banner only meant one thing. Quickly he turned to where the Royal Standard Bearer had approached with the Queen's Guard who quickly surrounded her in a protective cocoon of steel.

The general barked out a few commands setting the man to work in unfurling the banner from his pack attached to his saddle. The man reverently handed the bundle to the Queen. Cecilia wrapped her gauntleted hand around the staff from which the banner would hang as Tiberius removed the woolen cover.

Once removed Cecilia hoisted the banner high over their heads and Tiberius looked upon the sigil he'd never thought he'd see again. The pennant was bright red color upon a yellow sun burst set. It was something that no one could miss and drew the gaze of every eye on the field.

"_I live_," she bellowed her eyes fierce and her hair reflecting the morning gleam, "_Sons and daughters of Ferelden hear my voice and know I live. Now stand and kill the foes of our beloved home! Kill them for me and for Ferelden! Now! Kill! Them! All!_"

It was enough for the men… more than enough.

XXX

Charles like most in the fight had not seen Cecilia fall. He had been knee deep in gore next to the Teyrn of Highever and his knights when he heard the terrible shout that Cecilia had been killed. The shock had been so great that he himself had nearly been killed. And he had not been the only one. The Fergus Cousland, the Teyrn of Highever the Queen's maternal uncle had been thrown from his steed and nearly butchered by Kirkwall guardsmen before the Teyrn's knights and his own Chevaliers drove them back.

Even as he fought he felt the confusion that was engulfing the rest of the army. He tried to rally the men but they didn't care to listen to the words of an outsider. To them their liege lord was dead and that was all they cared about and so they withdrew intent on nothing but their own skins.

That she could be dead was a thought that sent shivers of dread down his spine. Cecilia had been such a presence that he doubted he could imagine a world without here. That in itself had shocked him even as he thought it. He had known the young Queen of Ferelden less than a year but he had come to truly love and adore her.

What would happen if she was truly dead? He would return to Orlais no doubt, but what would happen to Ferelden and her conquests. Would Teyrn Cousland and General Tiberius be able to hold their country together? Charles knew that Fereldens were as concerned with the line of Calenhad as Orlesians were with the House of Drakon.

Without an heir what would happen to them. Would the Ferelden Bannorn accept Teyrn Cousland as King in his own right or would the land descend into brutal, sensless civil war. He doubted that the conquests in Antiva would hold without Cecilia's iron will to hold them down. Despite what could happen whatever did happen would not be good for Ferelden. And ironically the welfare of this country was something he'd come to care for.

Suddenly he heard a voice, not just a voice but her voice. His head snapped around and his heart felt near to bursting as he saw her sitting on her destrier… and she held a banner high over her head. The prince frowned as he saw that it was an _Oriflamme_.

The bright yellow sunburst was on a field as red as freshly split blood. It was an ancient sigil which dated back to the two hundredth and ninth year of the Age of Glory and the First Exalted March against the elven Kingdom of Dales. After years of brutal war between men and elves the Emperor Drakon III with the support of the blessed Divine Renata I had issued a degree that no quarter would be given to the elves of Dales.

The _Oriflamme_ had been the symbol of that decree. When the banner flew no prisoners where to be taken and no cities spared the Maker's wrath. The bodies of the enemy dead where to be denied a proper burial and instead be burned on mass in direct opposition to Elven custom.

Despite the fact that it was frowned upon by the Chantry and the Templars the banner was used by almost every Andrastian nation. Though the holy purpose of the sunburst banner had faded from religious to secular hands the meaning remained the same. When the _Oriflamme_ flew no quarter was given.

He pulled on the reigns brining the horse's head around and back towards the fighting, his sword and armor flashing in the mid-day sun. His destrier snorted and snarled as it hurled itself and its rider towards the Kirkwallers who were beginning to realize the mistake they had made.

One man decided to fight and raised a flanged mace as a war cry spilled from his lips. He died soon after as the Prince's massive warhorse barreled into to him crushing the man beneath half a ton of armor and horse. A second man died on the edge of Charles's blade as he and his Chevaliers rode head long into the mass of retreating men.

All around him the same was happening. The Ferelden's had heard their Queen's cry and turned to fall upon the army of Kirkwall with a horrible vengeance. Blood flowed freely as horseman slaughtered their way through the herd of Kirkwallers as they scrambled back up the hill for illusionary safety of their battle line.

XXX  
>Hawke knew they were dead. He had known from the second that Cecilia had appeared alive after her rather nasty little fall. Out in the open they were easy prey for Cecilia's horse and without them his shield wall was dangerously thin. No, he revised his earlier words; he no longer had a shield wall.<p>

The Viscount of Kirkwall cursed fate, the Maker and most of all Ferelden's bitch of a Queen for her refusal to die. Hawke turned the ashen face guard sergeant who had become his de facto second after the death of Aveline Vallen and her lieutenants.

Grimly he realized what had to be done. He hissed through clenched teeth before ordering the Sergeant to round up everyone he could and make his way back to the city to link up with what few men remained in garrison. It wouldn't be much but it would put Threnhold in better negotiating position if he was still capable of resisting…. that assumed of course that Cecilia was still in any sort of negotiating mood.

Glumly Hawke glanced around as his personal guard gathered around him. To nearly the man they were bloodstained, panting heavily, and bore pits and scores of blade hits and the dents of mace and other blunt force strikes.

"Men," Hawke sounded weary… hell he was weary, "Men," he repeated, "I will not lie to you. I am going to ask you to lay down your lives to allow our fellows to withdrawal to our beloved city. With our lives we will secure that are city lives on… are you with me?"

There were no cheers, no shouts and rousing huzzahs as the men prepared for a final stand like heroes out of ancient tales and legends. Instead there was quiet resignation of men about to die. In a way Hawke supposed it was more valiant then raging cheers. These men knew they were about to die but not one chose to shirk his duty.

And that was a good thing for all around him the sounds of battle and chaos reigned. The Ferelden cavalry had broken through his thinned out ranks and were reaping a viscous tally of slaughter amongst the Kirkwallers. Hawke knew the battle was over, but perhaps he could still salvage something of the war.

It was that thought that burned through his mind as he advanced towards Cecilia's dragon banner and the brilliant red-yellow of the fluttering Oriflamme. He wouldn't leave this field alive but he was dammed if he was going to die before he had his revenge on Cecilia. He would die, but not without having the pleasure of sending her soul screaming into the Fade.

XXX

"Here they come," Ser Raymond of Giles said under his breath. From his position at the top of the majestically crafted gatehouse in which the elaborately carved steel frame was overlaid with silver and gold and who's gate remained securely fasten he could see what was to come.

Raymond was actually glad that his comrades wouldn't be required to destroy such a priceless historical artifact. From what he had read this gate while not the original contained several pieces of the original masterpiece forged by the Mages of the Imperium that had been salvaged from the original sack of the city under Maferath and his Alamarri horde.

The Knight of the Sovereign's Order watched as his brethren broke the enemy and drove them back towards the city they thought was a refuge. The key word in the phrase being 'thought.' In fact they were heading to their deaths and the end of their city.

"Make ready," Raymond called as he raised his sword so his men on the gatehouse and surrounding battlements could see.

Several longs seconds ticked by, seconds that were filled with the sounds of bolts being cocked as his knights and men-at-arms readied themselves. A crossbow wasn't the most honorable weapon of choice for a knight, but Raymond and the Sovereign's Order were willing to sully their honor to attain victory for their Queen.

On the road below a man on a horse in Kirkwall livery shouted, "Open the gate!"

Beneath his helm Raymond smiled and nodded to the man on his left who was holding a pike rolled up standard tied at the top. The man-at-arms reached up and in a single deft movement cut the cord holding the fabric in place.

It took a second for the banner to catch the gently blowing breeze and when it did the Queen's red black dragon banner was revealed for the entire world to see. Beneath the Fereldens the Kirkwallers came to a halt as they starred up with horror. Raymond gave them a few moments to understand their fate before giving the command to fire.

And so it would end. With the army of Garret Hawke, Champion and Viscount of Kirkwall stuck between the hammer of Queen Cecilia vast host and the anvil which was the gates of their own city. The poets could not have come up with a more tragic ending if they had tried.

XXX

Though all this was unknown to Hawke as he found himself embattled blade-to-blade in mortal combat with the Ser Markus Tiberius the general of Cecilia's armies and the Queen's personal war dog. The Viscount was forced to admit the man was skilled… very skilled despite the fact that the general was at least a decade his elder.

A horizontal swipe of his great sword forced the knight back giving Hawke a little bit more breathing space before the flurry of attacks began again. He blocked and countered his sword grazing off Tiberius's obsidian armor as the knight's weapon was turned by his own. Even as they fought Hawke realize with a frightful start the Tiberius was a better swordsman than he.

Hawke for all his standing now had been born unto the lower strata of Ferelden society. As far as anyone knew he was the son of a poor freeholder who barely possessed enough land to keep the family fed. He had joined the local lord's men-at-arms when he'd showed a natural skill with a blade. He'd been trained by the Lord Lorien's castellan, but that was for mass unit tactics not personal dulls. For the most part he was a self-taught fighter with pain and hard won experience as a teacher.

Tiberius… Tiberius on the other hand was of old, if somewhat minor, nobility. He had been trained in the arts of death and knightly combat since he was old enough to hold a sword. He was well versed in art of single combat and wholesale slaughter. He was trained classically in a way that Hawke could never hope to be… and it was showing.

Hawke hated to admit it but his defeat of the qunari Arishok had been more due to luck than skill… and the fact that for what Maker-dammed reason the ox-man had decided to fight without any armor protecting his vital areas. It was a part of the legend of 'the Hawke' that Varric never seemed to tell.

"Hell and damnation," the Viscount cursed as side stepped a thrust aimed at his groin. Using his momentum he spun bringing the blade around in a punishing swing, but Tiberius shifted his weapon so it was parallel with his body.

The blade connected with the flat of the general's sword forcing towards his flank. Before he could take advantage of the fact he had the general's weapon pinned Tiberius brought his head down smashing his helm into Hawke's own. The blow must have broken something because he felt a hot rush of blood pour from his nose. Staggering back from the blow, he barely avoided a throat level cut that would have at taken his head clean off.

"Enough," Hawke hissed under his breath. If he couldn't win this honorably as a knight and noblemen ought then he could win in another way. Spending nigh on ten years in the company of people like Varric Tethras and Isabella of Rivain had taught him certain tricks… tricks that a man such as the one he faced would neither know nor stoop to use.

He let his right hand slide from his greatsword to slip into a pouch hanging from his belt. He grasped a small black object and palmed it. Hawke smiled silently thanking Isabella for this trick. The woman may have been a pirate whore and one hell of a bitch, but she knew how to fight against long odds.

The Ferelden general advanced his weapon held high. Hawke squeezed his hand tight crushing the object in his palm into a fine powder before hurling it in the general's direction. The powdery substances flew true into Tiberius's face. Most dusted harmlessly across the man's helm but enough made it through the visor to accomplish its purpose.

The object he had removed had been an egg, hollowed out and painted black to make it harder for the eye to see. Inside the blackened, hollowed out egg was a fistful of finely ground glass. When thrown into the face of an opponent the small grinds would work their way into the target's eyes causing excruciating pain and eventually blindness.

"You bastard son of a whore," Tiberius screamed and his free hand came up in a reflexive gesture but was blocked by his great helm while he swung blindly with his sword.

While the general was still largely incapacitated Hawke acted. With another large side-step he flanked the elder man and with a viscous swing of his blade took out his legs. Tiberius fell with a clash of steel and a whoosh of exhaled air. Without hesitation Hawke drove his blade down through the general's throat.

The Viscount and Champion of Kirkwall looked down on the man he had just deprived of life. Hawke had killed men… and women before, but this was the first time he had ever hated the man he had killed… it seemed different. He hadn't hated Knight Commander Meredith or First Enchanter Orsino. One had been a zealot warped by ancient magics and the other a man who gave in to the depths of despair.

Even the monster who killed his mother he hadn't hated… there hadn't been enough time for that. But Tiberius … Tiberius he had hated just as he hated Cecilia for the death of his wife and son. Slowly he withdrew his blade listen to the gurgling wet sounds the knight made as he clutched the remnants of his ruined throat.

One down.

XXX

"Markus," Cecilia breathed as she watched her general and friend fall and knew he would never again rise.

Cecilia felt her anger rise threatening to overwhelm her control. For beneath this suit of flesh and bone existed a being of vast and ancient power, the Old God Argon the Dragon God of War. The Lord of War was a twin fold god. The twin aspects were fire and ice, rage and reason. Argon symbolized both the slaughter of battle and the cold calculus of strategy and tactics.

The Queen snarled and thrust her sword down the enchanted blade making a mockery of the steel armor of the guardsmen helm. With a savage tug she ripped her weapon free allowing the half headed corpse to collapse ingloriously. She glanced down at the blade glistening with bright red vitae and felt her anger slip into a raging inferno.

"He's mine," she snarled to the members of her personal guard as she spurred her horse towards the Viscount of Kirkwall.

What was left of the man's bodyguard was ragged broken formation. Cecilia killed two more as she charged towards the Viscount with her knights in tow. Within moments she had a dozen knights had Tiberius's murderer surrounded and she could tell each of the knights were chomping at the bit to avenge their fallen general.

With a smooth motion that came from years of experience Cecilia dismounted her horse and slid to ground her sword clenched tightly in her fist. Hawke opened his mouth to speak but Cecilia didn't let him get that far. With a snarl of rage that spoke of a depth of hate the mere mortals were not capable of feeling or understand she charged.

Cecilia felt a haze of red fall across her eyes as the rage that was an inseparable part of her very nature slipped to the forefront of her consciousness. She struck and slashed forcing the Viscount back with every blow leaving a notch on the man's sword or a cut on his armor. While her demonic and magically imbued dragon bone armor was shrugging off every blow the Viscount was able to land.

In a more coherent state of mind Cecilia would have taken note that Garret Hawke had put up a masterful if somewhat desperate defense. The man's age and exhaustion from previous fights was beginning to show as his parries slowed as his chest heaved mightily with every breath. Cecilia on the other hand was only becoming stronger.

She felt the Viscount's fear and hate… and she fed.

XXX

Hawke found himself gasping for breath and it was a position he didn't much like as he fought with every ounce of skill and experience he possessed… and it wasn't enough. And unlike Tiberius he didn't think any cute tricks were going to save him…even if he got enough separation to try.

With blinding speed she struck out with her blade with a move intended to cut him from shoulder to thigh. Hawke reacted shifting his own blade into position to catch the blow on the flat of his weapon; instead the Queen's sword shattered his blade in a shower of sparks and steel fragments like it was nothing more than a dry twig.

Before he could react he found his shoulder alight as the Queen's blade cleaved through armor, skin and bone and drank deeply of his vitae. Hawke opened his mouth to scream but found nothing came out as the flame in shoulder transformed into a dark chill and seemed to suck his very soul from his body. He nearly retched as the Ferelden Queen tore the blade from his shoulder and collapsed to the ground fighting the pain the shot through every fiber of his being.

Through the haze of pain and the blood from a broken nose and the open wound above his eye he saw Cecilia standing above him her sword gorged on his blood. She reached down and closed her fist around the collar of cuirass and hauled him to his feet.

Hawke spat a glob of phlegm and blood, "Finish it!"

The Queen of Ferelden's eyes narrowed and for a second a sense of terror flooded through him as for the briefest of instants he saw the Queen's true nature and what he saw scarred his very soul. Her eyes normally the iciest blue burned red with rage and hate, her face was the blackest void and her mouth was ringed with jagged fangs. Her armor writhed like a living thing of smoking snakes etched with blasphemous runes as shadowy dragon like wings spread wide behind her.

The vision vanished from both his sight and memory as he was hurled through the air like a straw filled doll. He barely remembered hitting the ground before she was on top of him with her sword driven into the ground a bare hands width from his head. She then drove her knee into his shoulder causing a hoarse scream of pain to erupt from his throat, a scream cut off as her inhumanly strong and gauntleted grip wrapped around his neck.

XXX

"_Control_," the dragon hissed into the deepest reaches of her mind past forcing its way past the wall of rage and furry, "_Control, control, CONTROL_!"

The scream of her inner voice brought Cecilia back to the situation at hand. She stared down at the man beneath her as she tightened her grip on the viscount's throat resisting the urge to tear it out and bathe in his blood. Gritting her teeth she forced the rage, fury and hate back under control and resisted the bloody urges coursing through her body.

"Just get it over with," the bloodied lump of flesh of a man that had once been Garret Hawke the Champion and Viscount of Kirkwall hissed through a broken and swelled face.

The Queen's eyes hardened. He would not get out that easy, "No… no not until you know the full extent of your role in my grand scheme," she whispered into his ear, "Everything you see before, all the events that have transpired within the last year has been by my design. You have danced masterfully to my tune."

"L…lie…," Hawke gurgled.

"When you refused my offer you set events in motion," Cecilia said offering the Viscount a chilling smile as she savored the champion's fear and hate. This… this she would enjoy, "I engineered the political unrest Ostwick and had your family killed."

"Bi…bit…bitch," he snarled and made a weak grab for her throat.

Catching his hand with a flick of her wrist and broke it with a dismissive gesture, "You hired the Antivian Crows to avenge their alleged death at my hands breaking the treaty of San Carlito forbidding the assassinations of the Maker's Elect giving me Just Cause to invade. Antiva fell because of your actions, now Kirkwall will suffer the same fate… because of you."

"Lie."

"No it is the truth and this is another. As blood price for my general Kirkwall will burn as his funeral pyre the wailing of her souls marking his passage from this world until the next," she said her rage tinged with a sense of loss at the loss of the man who had taught her so much.

The Queen of Ferelden looked down upon the prone Viscount and felt naught but disgust for the man too weak to defend himself and his land. Gripping her sword hilt tightly she held the tip to the man's throat. "Curse now and die in vain."

And die he did there in the wet mud of the Wounded Coast with his army in ruins and his city under threat of total annihilation.

"My Queen," a horseman in the golden laurels and livery of House Cousland of Highever bellowed as he halted his mount, "My Queen. Teryn Cousland had driven the Kirkwallers back and destroyed them without mercy beneath the wall of the city. Ser Raymond of Giles has surrendered control of the Eastern gatehouse and they are requesting orders."

Cecilia took one last look at the fresh corpse at her feet, "Sack the city… secure Hightown district and the Keep… the rest let it burn."

XXX

"Maker curse you," the Kirkwall lord of the ancient and venerable House of Threnhold shouted as he thumped his fists against the blood stained black armor of Raymond of Giles a knight of the Sovereign's Order. "This is my city… my people are dying! Andraste's blood we had a deal!"

Having had enough of this Raymond backhanded the man across the face sending him tumbling indigently to the ground. The knight drew a long triangular dagger made for punching through armor and cracking ribs. Holding it in his right hand he advanced on the terrified nobleman. With his free hand he hauled Threnhold to his feet.

After the massacre of what was left of the Kirkwall army Raymond and moved his company back towards the palace while Teryn Cousland and his knights and the bulk of the Sovereign's Order made to secure Hightown while the rest of the army flooded into the city's other districts. Raymond was not naïve enough about the cruel nature of war not to understand what was going to happen to a good portion of the city's inhabitants.

War was a most cruel game and the Viscount of Kirkwall had knowingly chosen to play and had lost. His city would pay for it… his city was paying for it even now. Kirkwall had passed once more from its own dominion to the control of another.

"Is this him," a booming aristocratic voice echoed throughout the throne room.

Raymond spun and found the Teyrn of Highever clad in resplendent steel armor and accompanied by a dozen knights bearing the golden laurels of House Cousland. The Teyrn's armor was splashed with blood and the surcoats of his knight were just as stained.

"My lord Teyrn," Raymond said warily of the Queen's paternal uncle.

"Is this he," the Teyrn repeated as he came to a halt a bare handful of steps from Raymond and the Lord Threnhold. Teyrn's blade was sheathed but the weapons of his guard were out and held ready to use if anything went wrong.

"Ser knight," Fergus began once more, "Is this Lord Alexander of the House of Threnhold?"

"I am," the Kirkwall lord said staggering to his feet, "I wish to protest my treatment at the hands of… of this man. We had a…"

Raymond watched as the Teyrn advanced with a sense of nervousness. Not only did the Teyrn possess a fearsome reputation but to Raymond's knowledge was ignorant of the true scale of the Queen's plan. As far as he knew only the inner circle of the Order knew even the barest fragments of Cecilia's machinations.

The knight gripped the dagger tightly unsure of what to do. If Threnhold talked… well he doubted Cecilia would reward him if he ruined her preparations. He'd most likely wind up dead in some unmarked grave if they even went through the trouble of burying him… or worse. He could wind up at the peak.

Before Threnhold could reveal anything incriminating Fergus Cousland the Teyrn of Cousland swung a massive gauntleted fist at the elder man smashing him in the jaw sending him thumbing back to the ground he had just pulled himself up off. The high nobleman followed up with a swift kick from his armored boot to the ribs that resulted in a sickening 'crunch'.

The Teyrn reached down wrapped his hands around powerful fists around the smaller man's neck, "You insignificant little shit," he snarled as he bore down on his windpipe, "Cecilia told me that you helped arrange the assassination attempt on her life. I know you were the go-between for Hawke and the Antivian Crows."

"W…wa…," but whatever he had been trying to say was cut off but the crack of his vertebrate breaking.

Raymond watch as the Teyrn of Highever stood his frame shaking with rage and hate and in that instant the knight knew that what was said about the Queen's uncle was no rumor. He knew that this man had hunted the last of the Howe's of Amaranthine to extinction not even allowing the supposed immunity of the Grey Warden to forestall his vengeance.

"Milord," Raymond began cautiously, but was interrupted by the Teyrn.

"Be at ease Ser Knight," the high nobleman began, "This man was a part of a plot to murder my niece, your Queen and justice demands he pay the highest price," the Cousland's face began a mask of sadness if only for an instant before the steel returned. "I have lost too much of my family to allow one such as he to threaten what remains."

"Aye… milord," the knight responded with a respectful bow relieved that the responsibility for the affair no longer belonged to him.

He took most last look at the fallen Kirkwall nobleman and shook his head. Raymond felt no sympathy for this man. He had sought to use Cecilia and his own lord for his advantages, playing them off against one another to achieve his goal. He had failed and there we only one price for failure. In the

XXX

Morrigan, daughter of Flemeth and the Witch of the Wilds, shivered as an unholy wind ripped through the dungeons of the ancient Fortress called the Soldier's Peak. The witch wrapped the heavy fur lined robe tightly around herself even knowing that the cold she felt had knowing to do which the chill out the mountain air.

Everywhere the Witch went she felt the eyes of Peak's silent guardians watching. The foreboding armored juggernauts that were an abdominal creation of forbidden and arcane magics. Through the darkest of rites a mortal soul was dominated and bound forever within a cursed suit of armor. These dammed souls served as the protectors of this accursed place as a punishment for making an enemy of the God of War in life.

With her very step the very essence of this unholy place seemed to way down upon her soul. Even her dreams were not an escape as they were plague with unnamed fears and horrors. Well at least it was nearly over she told herself once more. The ancient talisman Dumat's Eye was back in Cecilia's hands, recovered from the treasure vaults of the dead Antivian King. And thanks to the witch's and the deranged patrician's work the Lord of War now in possession of weapon supposedly capable of killing gods.

In her mind Morrigan could hear her mother's whispered warnings. Flemeth had taught her much about magic, both in theory and practicality. The original Witch of the Wilds had understood the nuances of magic far better than Morrigan could ever hope to. Magic was powerful and dangerous and without a firm hand to guide it could result in the most disastrous of consequences. That in the end even knowledge could be dangerous.

Morrigan had learned secrets that no witch or mage had known in a thousand years, but the price... the weight of that knowledge was baring down on her. She felt that knowledge worming through her mind like a host of worms burying their way through the flesh of an apple. Her mother had once said there were things that no mortal minds were supposed to know… forbidden magics and secrets reserved for the creatures of the Fade and the gods.

"_Witch-child_," the mutated form of the Tevinter mage lord Corypheus hissed through broken teeth and twisted lips, "_we progress according to the will of our liege, the Lord of the Ever-Changing path._"

"So it is finished then," Morrigan said with breathy relief glad to be free of this terrible burden.

The creature only laughed.

XXX

It was not such a terrible place, Charles a Prince of Orlais, decided as he marched through the Great Hall of the Viscount's Keep. These halls were ancient when the Grand Cathedral in Val Royeauex was still a green field on which sheep and cattle grazed. It was a power when the Empire of Drakon was a collection of petty warlords and barbarian chieftains.

As he exited the hall and entered the central keep he began the arduous journey up the stairs towards the Lord's Tower the former home of the very… very recently deceased Viscount of Kirkwall Garret Hawke.

A chill wind blew over the Prince as he stepped atop the tower and he felt a small smile touch his lips as he saw Cecilia silhouetted against pale yellow orange light radiating from the lower quarters of the city. The Queen was still clad in her obsidian armor her gauntlets still flecked in the caked, dried blood of her enemies and was leaning on the battlements starring off into the horizon.

Charles was not a fool or a novice in war. He had command his lady mother's, the Empress of Orlais, armies in half a dozen border skirmishes and even served with the Tevinter legions in the North against the heathen Qunari. He knew what was happening in the city below, people were dying at the hands of the Queen's army as they vented their mistress's wrath on its inhabits.

"Tell me what do think of my conquest," the Queen of Ferelden said with a dismissive flick of a bloodied gauntlet towards the burning city below.

Her voice was tight, Charles noticed, as if she herself was unsure of what answer she desired. That in itself was uncharacteristic of his bride-to-be. He hesitated and thought the question over. What did he believe?

"Their fate," he began, "is unfortunate."

That he did believe. It was not fair that when the high lords went to war it was the small folk who suffered the most. The people of Kirkwall would pay and pay dearly for their Viscount's decision to take up arms against Cecilia. It was unfair to say the least but that is the way things were.

"But not completely unexpected," the prince finished as he closed the distance between them and wrapped an arm around Cecilia's waist, "You are within your right. You did no wrong."

She tensed at the contact between them and snapped, "I do not need you to justify my actions Prince of Orlais!"

Charles said nothing but merely pulled her tighter to him, "I know you do not and I have come here to both congratulate you upon your great victory and to offer my sincerest condolences upon the loss of your general and friend."

She twisted around in his arms and azure eyes met dusty brown. She cocked her head as her brow furrowed and Charles felt her studying him. He nearly lost himself in the icy void of the bluest of eyes, but he just managed to pull himself back.

"Yes Tiberius was a friend, a teacher and shall be sorely missed," she said and though hardly there Charles knew her well enough by now to detect underlying sorrow in her tone.

A twinge of jealousness shot through his body. Tiberius… the bloody Bastard had had a relationship with his betrothed that he himself would and perhaps never could have. He had once feared that there could be more to their relationship than first appeared, but that suspicion had quickly faded. Still he had been her right hand and confidant and Charles envied that.

He felt his throat tighten and his breath catch in his chest as he tried to speak, "Cec-"

"In the Maker's name I demand you stop this," a shrill voice screeched causing the Prince and Queen to separate with a start.

"Pardons majesty," a black armored knight said his hand on his sword but clearly unwilling to draw the blade, "Her Grace insisted."

'Her Grace' was the Grand Cleric of Kirkwall dressed in her richly adorned robes emblazed with the yellow sunburst of the Maker's Light. The high priest of the Chantry in Kirkwall was escorted by a pair of Knights Templar their steel armored polished to a high sheen, their kilts the deepest of reds and their helms flanked by a pair of flaring wings. Each one had his cloak tossed over his shoulder to free their weapon arms though their swords remained sheathed and they made no move draw them.

Charles watched a flicker of annoyance cross Cecilia's face before it was once more hidden behind a mask of politeness. "Your Grace a pleasure… and what auspicious occasion brings such a Lord of the Chantry to me?"

"Do not think to play games with me you Ferelden cur," the Grand Cleric Petrice screamed, "Your army is running amok in my city, pillaging, looting and raping at will!"

By the time the first sentence had left the priests mouth Cecilia's guards were seeing no longer worried about drawing their weapons on a priests. There was the unmistakable sound on steel on leather as swords were drawn and in the blink of an eye the Grand Cleric and her templars were surrounded by by five gleaming steel swords.

Charles was among them with his bastard sword drawn the tip of which was pointing not quite in the direction of the Cleric and her men. While Cecilia needed no one to defend her or her honor he would not let such an insult to his beloved go unanswered.

"Your Grace," he ground out through gritted teeth, "this is no way to speak to one of the Maker's Elect and a Queen in her own right."

The Cleric threw him a venomous glare, "Orlesians ever the pious when it suits you but how quickly you abandon the Faith when inconvenient," her glare turned back to Cecilia, "Now in the Maker's name stop this I command you!"

"Command me? In the Maker's name or not no one commands me," Cecilia spoke for the first time since the priest had entered, "Do not test my temper priest," she repeated her voice haven taken on taken on a tone colder than the highest peaks of the Frostbacks, "Run back to the Gallows and tend to your temple and mages ."

Charles watched as the Grand Cleric visibly composed herself, "I will not forget this slight against the Office of the Grand Cleric and against the Mother Chantry and I will report to the Divine of the slaughter of the innocent in this city."

"This is war," the Prince intervened finally sheathing his blade, "brought on by the Viscount of this City… not the Kingdom of Ferelden. My aunt the Most Holy Divine would agree this most unfortunate of events cannot be laid at Cecilia's feet."

"We shall see!"

With that the Grand Cleric of Kirkwall stormed out with her templars in toe.

XXX

"Arrogant pompous little…,"Cecilia growled under her breath her hands crunched into tight fists as she watched the priest and her templar's leave with the knight's trailing out behind them.

Cecilia… hated the false Maker and his Chantry, but there was an even dark hater for those such as Petrice. The woman was a fanatic among fanatics whom manipulate the tenants of her own faith for her own advantage and gain. It took every ounce of her restraint not to stride forward, draw her blade and cut the woman down.

"Love," a voice called her attention, "Well that was… interesting. Are you sure you made the right call in treating her as you did?"

With effort Cecilia forced her feelings down and when she turned to face the prince she was wearing a charming smile, "Have no fear my prince. The Grand Cleric will not be a problem once she is back in the Gallows. Once there it will be easy enough to keep her there."

It would certainly be easy enough to keep her silenced until it was too late for her to cause any problems. The Gallows, as the Templar Stronghold and the Circle of Magi was named, was a small made island in the Kirkwall Harbor with only a small causeway connecting it to the city proper. With the fleet and forces she already possessed it would be pathetically easy to keep the old bitch under virtual house arrest.

And if it became necessary Cecilia could have the Grand Cleric killed. It wouldn't be the best option and certainly carried risks if her actions were discovered, but it wouldn't be the first time she had arrange for the quiet death of a foe. It also wouldn't be the first time she had removed a member of the clergy resistant to her plans.

"If you say so," he finished as he came t stand beside and gently wrapped his arms around her waist.

The Queen of Ferelden glanced out once more over her newest possession, the newest glimmering jewel in her ever growing crown. These were fine first steps in her grand stratagem, she thought as she watched the dancing lights of a city alight, but she was far from finished.

Dumat's eye was in her hands and with it access to vast stored power and most importantly a piece, however small, of the greatest and eldest of the Dragon Gods the Lord of Death, the Lord of Everlasting Silence. And thanks to the self-styled Witch of the Wilds she was in possession of a useable form of the Maker's most deadly weapon… the darkspawn taint itself.

She was close, but not quite there yet. She still needed one more item an ancient relic imbued with the blood of a god. She also still had two living brothers imprisoned in the depths of the earth, beneath the even deepest veins of the Dwarven Deep Roads.

Two gods still slumbered and Cecilia swore she would free them.

E**verybody give BritBookWorm a round of applause. Yes, the battle in this and the last chapter was based on the Battle of Hastings in 1095 between William the Bastard aka William the Conqueror, Duke of Normandy, and Harold Godwinson, King of Saxon England. **


	13. Epilogue

**The Dragon Queen: Beginnings **

Epilogue: End and Beginnings

It had taken a further month to pacify Kirkwall before the Queen and her army returned to the capital of her newest province, the former Kingdom of Antiva before official recognizing her nephew Gawain Cousland as Teyrn of Lower Antiva and appointing the Knight Ser Raymond of Giles to the position of Lord Commander of Upper Antiva. She also named two Arls and half a dozen Banns to fill out the ranks of the new nobility in the north.

Three weeks past the day the Army of Ferelden had mustered at Highever they returned in immortal glory to parade through the streets like the Tevinter Legions celebrating a triumph of conquest during an age of Heroes. The days that had followed had seen Denerim drown in wine and revelry the likes of which had not been seen since the defeat of the Archdemon and the Fifth Blight.

And more merriment was to follow as but a week later the long awaited marriage of Queen Cecilia and Charles Prince of Orlais. This was more than the marriage of two Royal Houses is was the alliance of two former enemies and two of the most powerful nations in the world. It was a union to make all of Thedas tremble.

Kings and Queens, Lords and Ladies, Senators and Proconsuls from Tevinter, and the Empress herself would come from the Val Royeauex to witness this monumental moment. It was championed to be the event of the century in a century that had seen a Blight and the fall of Antiva.

Cecilia smirked or so they thought. What they did not was this was only the beginning and she had far grander things in store. The world was changing and she was the catalyst for that change. From Par Vollen in the North to the depths of the Wilds would shake and tremble before she was finished.

"Are you ready for this child," the deep voice of her Uncle the noble Teyrn Fergus Cousland of Highever the Ferelden jewel on the Waking Sea. The Teyrn was splendid looking in his finest tourney armor which was polished to the highest sheen. A magnificent silver gilded sword hung at his side the golden laurels of Higher emblazoned on the cross guard. From his shoulders hung a deep blue cloak trimmed in gold in the fashion of the colors of House Cousland.

"I am hardly a child anymore Uncle," the Queen smiled as she took the proffered arm.

"I know," the nobleman said with a sad smile, "but you will always be the child of my beloved sister Ellisa…. may the Maker bless her soul," the smile brightened slightly, "you are image of loveliness dearest niece."

That Cecilia was most assured of. She and her soon-no-be Mother-in-law and spent a great deal of coin on the finest dressmakers and seamstresses from Orlais, Neverra and even Tevinter to craft the wedding garment for a Queen and daughter-in-law of an Empress.

The dress was made from the finest Orlesian silks inlaid with golden thread, diamonds and rubies that clung to Cecilia figure in the most flattering of ways. An emerald choker was wrapped about her neck the center piece of which was fitted with a solid golden dragon with sapphire eyes that peaked from between her supple breasts.

From beyond the sculpted wooden doors came the sounds of trumpets announce the beginning of the Chantry's wedding song. The doors swung in each of the heavy oak frames opened each held by a knight of the newly formed Dragonguard their obsidian black armor gleaning beneath the even darker surcoat and the sable dragon. Their helms were molded in to the shape of a snarling dragon and atop their shoulders sat crouching wyverns holding the clasps of their red-black cloaks in their winged hands.

Beyond them the highest nobles in Ferelden and host of other nations stood. Among them were the Empress Celene and the Prince Phillip Heir-Apparent of Orlais and they all were clapping and applauding, toasting and cheering. It was truly a sight to behold.

She allowed her uncle to lead her through the procession of cheering nobles, streaming banners and shinning knights. At the end of the hall at the foot of the raised dais on which the Silver Throne of Calenhad rested stood the Grand Cleric of Ferelden and the groom, Prince Charles of Orlais.

Like her uncle and her knight's the Prince was dressed in his finest suit of armor crafted for this specific event. From head to toe it was gilded gold with silver trim and from his shoulders flowed a golden cloak inlaid with real golden thread which made it so heavy that it would barely move in the breeze. It was such a terribly Orlesian thing to wear, but Cecilia found it fitting.

"Cecilia," Charles said with a grin.

"Charles."

"Majesty," the Grand Cleric started, "With your permission I would like to begin."

"By all means Your Grace begin."

_ End of Book 1 The Dragon Queen: Beginnings_


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